It'll Always Be Yours
by TheShakespeareCode
Summary: After Brienne unearths a shocking secret she and Jaime share, their fates are changed forever. Nothing can ever be the same again...Rated M for language, mild gore and mild sex. I own nothing. Hope you enjoy! :)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I hope you enjoy this new story. It is very disconnected from the plot, but everyone will stay in character.**

 **SPOILERS FOR SEASON 6**

 **Thank you for reading and feel free to follow and review! Much love xxx**

Brienne of Tarth stood straight as a poker outside Lady Sansa's door, her large, pale hand grasping the hilt of Oathkeeper. She stared around dutifully, as alert and focused as a sworn sword ought to be. But tonight, despite her devotion to shielding Lady Sansa from all further harm, her mind was elsewhere, her wide, blue eyes clouded over, and the hand that gripped the hilt shook slightly. She had felt braver facing the bear than she felt now.

There was no getting around it. None at all. It was a simple fact, an undeniable reality that her blood was a week late. A week. Not a day. Not even two. A week.

Brienne pursed her lips, shifting her weight onto her other foot. She struggled to keep her face blank and professional. But it was difficult. She felt as if her armour had doubled in weight. A week. It was usually highly predictable each moon. Within a day or two of accuracy, she would bleed mercifully lightly, and it would be over within just a few days. But not this moon. A noise brought her abruptly out of her thoughts. She started, clenching her muscles-but it was just Lady Sansa coughing. Brienne relaxed. But not for long... Her mind wondered back to that night in that tent at Riverrun. That blasted, bloody, _stupid_ tent...that beautiful tent, that tent which had held something better than anything the seven heavens could offer...

Some words were exchanged. The official business. She had stood as upright as she did now, half a head taller than the Kingslayer who stood before her, clad in similar armour to the Lannister steel he had given her himself. It felt…not strange, as such, to see Ser Jaime again, her old prisoner turned companion, whom she had watched at his very best and, most gut-wrenchingly at his very worst. It was more like a homecoming, as if she had been away at war for many, many years. Well, they had both been at war. They both had the scars to prove it. Ser Jaime's age was beginning to show, but he was still, to Brienne's dismay, so devastatingly handsome it felt like someone was driving a Valyrian steel sword into her gut. But his was a different kind of beauty to Renly's (gods rest him, she thought automatically). Jaime's was wrought with guilt, fret and a kind of tiredness that never left his eyes now. It was unlike anything Brienne had ever seen in a man's face before. She wondered if any man in Westeros carried a burden greater than he. Brienne felt Jaime's strength and vulnerability at once and in equal measures in her very soul, since they fitted together so perfectly with her own. And as she looked at him across that tent, she felt all of her old feelings for him, feelings she had pushed so deep down she had thought she would never be able to reach them again…they resurfaced, like the Greyjoy's Kraken, consuming her completely as if she had been engulfed in wildfire and plunged into a cool lake at the same time. She could see Queen Cersei's accusatory eyes…"…But you love him…"

She did. Gods, she did.

* * *

"… _and if you attack the castle, honour compels me to fight for Sansa's kin_." She had kept steady eye contact, ignoring the dread inside her. Ser Jaime's had eyes stared straight back.

" _Of course_ ," he said, levelly. Brienne knew him well enough to know he was feigning stupidity, hoping she would not say out loud what they both knew. But she knew she must.

"… _To fight you_." She clarified, trying hard to keep her voice as steady as his, though she could not help the pitch raising a little.

Jaime had stared for a long moment. He almost opened his mouth once to reply…then closed it again. Brienne waited anxiously, knowing her face was betraying her, her dread was showing though. She saw Jaime sense this. It made him speak up, meaning to comfort her, she knew. " _Lets hope it doesn't come to that_."

It was too much. With one last desperate look at him, Brienne had turned quickly on her heel to leave the tent, to wipe her face clean of all emotion and return to her duty, trying to force her mind onto the much more urgent affairs in hand, her forthcoming negotiation with the Blackfish, getting back to Podrick Payne outside, taking care of the horses, finding…

So when Jaime grabbed her wrist, stopping her just before she could exit the tent…she had almost screamed.

" _Please_." He had turned her back to him, standing very close to her. " _I can't let us just part like this again._ " Still, his hand, rough and warm, held onto her wrist gently, but firmly. Brienne had felt her heart stop completely. " _Especially if the next time we are to see one another is on opposite sides of a battlefield_." He met her eyes again, holding their contact.

Brienne had not known what to do. All she could feel was the gentle force of him on her wrist. It was as if all the air in the room had disappeared. She was far stronger than he now-she could have ripped her arm away easily…but she did not. She could not. " _You…_ " she almost stammered. " _It may not come to that, you said_."

Jaime sighed. " _The Blackfish is a stubborn old bastard. Just like his niece_ …" Jaime was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. It did not smell as nice as it did when they last parted on the Kingsroad. More like it did when they were the Bolton's captives. The memory stirred an even deeper part of her, knitting her closer to him than ever. " _I don't want the next time I see you to be the last time._ " Jaime continued, a weak grin twitching in the corner of his mouth. " _We all know you'd beat me on the field easily now. You'd cut me down as if I were Pod_."

Brienne smiled involuntarily, giving a small, pained laugh. She had not laughed in so long…the motions felt so foreign to her. _"I wouldn't…I mean_ …" She bit her lip gently, as their smiles fell away as quickly as they had come. Against her better judgement, she let her eyes wonder down to where Jaime's hand, browned almost gold by the sun, was wrapped still around her wrist.

He noticed her looking. He looked down too, as if the arm and the hand that clasped it were someone else's entirely. " _Brienne of Tarth_ …" he breathed, as if trying in inhale her very essence, looking at her as if he could never tear his eyes away. " _There is no woman like you in the seven kingdoms. Not one_." And with that…he slipped his hand into hers. " _Don't go_." He begged her, in a very different voice.

Every fibre of her being screamed at her to pull her hand away.

But she didn't. Or couldn't. Whichever it was…their chests now almost touched as one pair of blue eyes gazed into another.

She was not sure to this day who had moved in first. All she knew was that…a few moments later…their lips had met.

She had let him. Everything had happened so quickly. For the first time in her life, she let herself be weak, and she _loved_ it. She had let the Kingslayer in closer to her than anyone had ever been before. His golden skin, as golden as his new hand, had seemed to glow all over as she looked up at him from the ground, her bare back gently scratched by the grass of the tent floor. The roar of the lion, once abhorrent to her, became her water, her earth, wind and fire. She had found herself wanting everything she had thought impossible for her to reach-wanting a man who wanted her back, wanting him like she wanted air to breathe, desperate and gasping rhythmically as he made love to her, first gently, kissing her neck so softly it felt more like breathing, then more and more, until she felt his teeth against her flesh, and it was more than she could bear. She could only remember running her hand through that thick, yellow Lannister hair and feeling it damp with sweat, as shiny as his golden, muscular shoulders she had held onto for dear life...

When it was over, they had dressed quickly on her reluctant insistence. He had protested, but she was steadfast, though she had wanted nothing more than to lie in Jaime Lannister's golden arms and forget that there was a world outside that tent, a world that needed her. She had known Pod was waiting dutifully outside as a squire should, and not for the first time she wished him far, far away from her. He needed her. Lady Sansa needed her, above all, and it was her duty to put the lady's needs above her own, however aching they were. She had wanted nothing more than never to leave that tent, to stay forever in the red, Lannister cloth, feeling her lion's skin on hers, so warm, so…That _bloody_ tent.

* * *

But now there was no blood. Just a faint ringing in her ears and a big question hanging over her like a corpse on a noose. Like those poor tavern girls she had cut down and buried, she too had now…lain with a lion. And perhaps...Brienne shut her eyes, trying to block out the possibility that she carried a lion's… _NO._ Closing her eyes and shaking her head hard, she put all thought of it out of her mind. Of course not. She knew blood was not always regular-informed by the maester back at home on Tarth in the absence of her mother, she knew that many things could affect the regularity of her blood-eating habits, stress, if the moon was in the wrong place in the sky, if there was an eclipse, if her humours were imbalanced…there were any number of reasons why her blood was absent. There was nothing at all to suggest that the only possible explanation was…

Brienne sniffed the night air hard. Her watch would end soon, and she could go to bed in her little chamber at Winterfell, with its wooden floor and soft furs she felt were far too luxurious for her. Lady Sansa had insisted on keeping her in more comfort than she had had since Kings Landing. But every night since she had returned to her lady's side at Winterfell, when Pod had removed her armour and gone to his own chamber, all she could do was lie awake in those soft, warm furs, and imagine the lion she lay with beside her again…Ser Jaime, who may be dead for all she knew, en route back to Kings Landing and Cersei…

She would never lay with him again. She would probably never even see him again. But still… _still_ …

And now…

This was ridiculous. Brienne shook her head again, shifting her weight back onto the other foot. It was absolutely ridiculous to stand there and worry and fret about something she couldn't possibly solve that night. She gripped Oathkeeper tighter as she decided what she would do. In the morning, she would rise early and discover Winterfell's maester. Simple. Easy. Whoever it was would tell her she had it wrong. There had to be a maestor in such a huge and vital stronghold-though she had not met them yet.

And she could go back to missing Jaime in peace…

She could hear a dog barking outside. After the fate of Ramsay Bolton, however much he deserved it and however much she wished she could have killed him herself for Lady Sansa, they gave her the creeps. The air was chillier than ever as her watch neared its end.

 **Hope you enjoyed! More soon, promise.  
**

 **Cheeky hint #1: A familiar face will be heading back Northward.**

 **Cheeky hint #2: Something nice for anyone who hated Ramsay-so that's everyone :P**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! It means the world, please continue to do so, I love to hear your thoughts :D more soon, hope you enjoy! xxx**

Jon Snow buried his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the dark wooden table. He rubbed his eyes hard and gave a deep sigh, thinking longingly of his bed upstairs. The light coming through the window told him it was already dawn; he had sat at this desk all night, answering letters, making plans. His jug of water had long since been empty, and he had not even had a moment to fill it. He had a strong thirst. His eyes were heavy. He would sleep this morning-leave Tormund to carry on. Looking up, he watched the bearded man sleep, slouched in the chair opposite him, his mouth wide open. Most men would have been too fearful to wake a sleeping warrior of the free folk, especially one as fierce as his hair was red. But Jon found that he didn't fear much at all any more.

"Tormund." Jon found his voice croaking slightly as he raised it. "Tormund. I need you to take over."

"Mfffff?" came the grunt from the man opposite. The man did not open his eyes. "Mrrp."

"I need to get some sleep right now or I will go fucking mad." Jon explained, keeping his voice loud and clear. "Wake up."

"Fucking madder, you mean." Tormund mumbled into his beard, but he rubbed his eyes and straightened up, yawning. "Right. I ain't writing no fucking letters." he warned.

"Don't worry, I know that's beyond you." Jon managed a weak, teasing smile. "I'm going to bed. If anyone disturbs me before noon I will personally escort them to Castle Black and lob them over the Wall." He stood up, clearing his throat. "If anyone comes to you and you can't deal with them, send them to Sansa. She's not a morning person-she'll either sort their problem out or kick them in the balls."

"Kissed by fire, your sister." Tormund said, standing up to take Jon's seat. Jon himself winced at the phrase "kissed by fire". Trying not to think of Ygritte, as any thought of her would render him incapable of sleep, he made for the door. But the moment he yanked it open-a woman had materialised before him, filling the doorframe. She was half a head taller than him, with blonde hair and an almost comically serious expression.

"Lady Brienne," Jon nodded a welcome, trying not to show how exhausted he was and how displeased he was to see anyone now he had the chance to get away. "Good morning." he managed.

"There is no need to call me "Lady", my Lord." Brienne smiled wanly; Jon could see there was something on her mind. This was no social call. "Or is it Your Grace now?" she added.

"Lord fucking high king of the earth and all its royal pig-shit." came Tormund's voice from behind.

Jon grinned in spite of himself. "I shan't ever care how you address me, after you returned my sister to us." He coughed, trying to keep himself awake, edging towards the door. "Now, Tormund is holding the fort for a few hours, so-" Jon opened the door wider and gestured to Tormund, who, upon realising whom their visitor was, began to comb his beard with his fingers.

"My Lord." Brienne pressed on, ignoring Tormund and addressing Jon directly. "I am sorry to bother you, with your being so busy, but I have been unable to locate your maester. I wonder if you could give me some idea of where to find him?"

"Maester?" Jon frowned, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. His brow furrowed-it had never occurred to him-he had been so busy since arriving-that Winterfell needed a new maester. His heart heavy, he felt a pang for Maester Luwin- _and_ Maester Aemon… "We don't have…erm…Not ill are you?" he asked, quickly remembering his manners.

"No, no." Brienne smiled-though her eyes were dead. "You don't have one?" she asked, hiding her surprised reasonably well.

"No…that's a problem…" Jon moved back to his desk and sat down in Tormund's vacated chair. Brienne followed him, standing just behind. "Right…erm…" Jon sifted through the papers which covered the desktop. "a maester…when were we going to do that?" he directed at Tormund.

"Fuck me if I know." Tormund shrugged. Then he looked up at Brienne, a wicked smile on his face. "The lady can take _that_ as an invitation."

Jon forced himself not to laugh. "You _don't_ know though." He looked back to the woman behind him, who was staring ferociously down at the floor. "Well, thank you for bringing the matter to our attention, my lady. We need…right away, really, we need someone…erm…" Jon frowned, thinking hard…then-he snapped his fingers, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Oh! Look, we just need a temporary one really, until we can find someone permanent…how about Sam!"

Tormund blinked. "Sam? The fat wordy wanker from Castle Black?"

"Yes!" Suddenly, Jon was delighted.

"He's one of your _maesters_?"

"Well, not _technically_ yet…but I bet he knows enough to…fill in. And it would be good to have him back. Really, _really_ good." Already, Jon had grabbed a slip of parchment and a pen. "My Lady, if you would kindly send a raven with this note to the Citadel in Oldtown. For Samwell Tarly. To come…to Winterfell…immediately." Speaking as he scribbled, Jon felt a happiness rising inside him, a beam spreading across his face-here it was-the perfect excuse to get his friend back. "First boat to the Stony Shore…I'll have a carriage waiting for him there…I'll pay…whatever it costs…fast as you can…" As quickly as he could, John signed the note and rolled it up. He poured bright red wax and sealed the note with the Stark sigil, barely waiting for it to set. With a broad smile he gave the note to Brienne. "There we go. Problem solved. He'll be here in about two weeks if all goes smoothly."

Jon noticed Brienne bite her lip a little as she heard the time it would take, but she smiled politely. "I'll send it at once, my lord." With a small bow, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Old gods and new gods and every fucking god there is," Tormund leaned back in his chair, watching her leave with a hungry look in his eyes. "That's one _hell_ of a woman."

"Really?" Jon looked a little confused in his delight at the prospect of reuniting with Sam. "Brienne the _Beauty_?"

"I take it you mean the opposite of what you just said?" Tormund snapped, habitually sharp.

"Well…" Jon shrugged, pulling his cloak tighter over his shoulders. "It's just what people call her."

"Ah." Tormund shook his head, grinning. "You southern shits can't handle a woman like that. Not man enough."

Jon snorted. "Well, I'm not going to argue with you. Morning." he called in farewell as he swung the door shut in his wake, then set off quickly in the direction of his bed. He knew he could have called in a maester from much nearer-a more qualified one too. But he wanted Sam. He needed to tell him about everything that had happened to him since Sam left Castle Black. Besides-Jon felt he was allowed to do _one_ selfish thing after all he had been through…

* * *

Brienne had the raven sent within fifteen minutes. She almost wished she had not been so prompt-it was impossible to tell how she would survive these next two weeks…pursing her lips as she walked briskly across the courtyard back to her chamber, she remembered that maybe she wouldn't have to. Perhaps her blood would come today. Or tomorrow. Or any time in the next two weeks. Then, when this Samwell Tarly came, she may not have to speak with him at all…

It was a daunting prospect to talk to a stranger about. Perhaps he would be so gobsmacked that _anyone_ would lie with such a woman that he would laugh. Brienne bristled…Instead, she thought of Jaime. Even when he had held her the closest, kissed her the most passionately, he had made no declarations of her beauty, no flattery, no praise at all…beyond telling her that she had " _astonishing_ " eyes…She could not help but smile at the memory-but other than that, nothing at all, and Brienne respected him for this. He was not a liar. Well, not to her…She had barely slept for thinking about him yet again, wondering how much their precious hour together had meant to him. Probably nothing like as much as it meant to her…but still-it must have meant _something_. " _You have the most astonishing eyes_ …"

She had heard men tell stories of love-making, how course they made it sound, how vile. She had always been told that the first time would hurt dreadfully, nonetheless women had to put up with it. But with Jaime…he had been so gentle-he knew she had barely been kissed before, let alone touched the way he touched her, and he was careful. He made sure she was totally relaxed as she lay on the ground, and when the time came…there had been a little pain, but not half as much as she had been lead to believe, and it did not begin to compare to the sheer pleasure, the pure, animalistic bliss...It did not seem like such a huge deal-why did women make such a fuss about staying virgins until marriage? Well, why did _men_ make such a fuss about their bride's virginity?

Brienne had expected to feel like an entirely different person once she had lost her maidenhead- but she felt entirely herself. And it was _wonderful_ …She could not think of it as a loss, but as a healing…she felt healed as Jaime had kissed the ragged scars on her neck from her encounter with the bear, and she had kissed the new skin where his hand once was…it was as if they were restoring one another, although that was impossible. The whole time they had spent together had seemed impossible…Brienne silently thanked the Maiden for preserving her so that the first man she lay with was someone she loved so fiercely…That was something she and Jaime would always have, always share. And no one could take that away from her.

These were the feelings she focused on-what Jaime had done, what he had said, how he had made her feel. The little scare she was having would seem so insignificant in a few years when she recalled the time she lay with Jaime. As she crossed the courtyard towards the stables where she could hear the horses whinny and stamp, she let her fingers brush her neck, the rough, jagged scars Jaime Lannister had kissed...This, she was sure, would be the sweetest memory of her life...

Suddenly, the very next thing she knew, Brienne found herself doubled over and vomiting violently into the horses' hay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! Thank you so so much for reading, favourite-ing, following and reviewing! It means so much. Massive love to all of you and I hope you are all well :) Keep doing so-I love hearing your thoughts. I am actually super-organised with this story-I'm editing chapter five as I post this chapter-so there should continue to be daily updates :D thank you! xxx**

Samwell Tarly stood with his hands on his hips, looking around Winterfell's dark library. It was nowhere near as grand as the citadel, but it was so gloriously old, with so many stories to tell and those wonderful, thick, leather-bound volumes waiting to be studied… "It's amazing, isn't it?" he called behind him.

"You always say that when there's books." Gilly's voice came nervously from the doorway. Little Sam was asleep in her arms after the last leg of their long journey.

"Come in, then!" Sam turned back to her and grinned. "Women and children are allowed in this one!"

Slowly, Gilly followed him into the library, looking around in awe. Sam loved taking her to new places-the wonder on her face never got old. He loved her more than ever in these moments.

"Look, there are some children's books on that shelf there." Sam pointed to a low shelf where the books were a little more colourful. "They must have been Jon's and his brothers and sisters when they were young! You could read them to little Sam, maybe?"

"I don't think I'm good enough at reading to do that." Gilly was still staring around in wonderment.

"Of course you are! It's just confidence you lack." Sam gave her a hug, being careful not to wake little Sam. "Isn't it exciting to be in Jon's home?"

"It doesn't feel like it," said Gilly, with her usual honesty. "We haven't seen him yet."

"But he's here!" Sam grinned, squeezing her shoulders. "And we'll see him soon, I promise." Gently, he guided her over to a comfortable-looking squashy red chair beside the fireplace. "You must be exhausted-have a rest, I'll take him." He sat her down and relieved her of little Sam, whose sand-coloured hair tickled Sam's nostrils as his little head lolled on his chest. "I'll wake you up when Jon gets here."

Gilly did not need persuading. She smiled for the first time, settling back into the chair and closing her eyes. Almost immediately, she began to give little snores. Sam smiled down at her, cradling their boy, allowing himself to take a moment to take in the little family he suddenly had, and how he had never believed himself capable of having one-especially one this odd. But it was perfect-it was as if the moment he had watched little Sam come into the world, a voice had whispered in his ear- _that's your boy, Samwell Tarly. And that's your girl_.

Quietly, being careful not to disturb little Sam, Sam walked as noiselessly as he could around the library, gazing at the stamped titles on the leather spines, stopping to stroke one occasionally, especially the old, battered ones. He missed the grandeur of the citadel, the warmth of the Reach, how safe it had seemed being so far from the North and everything that waited beyond the Wall…but Jon needed him.

He had tried to persuade Gilly to stay in the south, but she would have none of it, as usual. There was no way she would let him leave her. And although he would certainly sleep easier knowing Gilly and little Sam were as far away from the Wall as possible, a part of him was glad he was not without his family. And now he would not be without his best friend.

Little Sam stirred in his arms, beginning to wake up. His blue eyes fluttered open, then screwed tightly shut again as he yawned, making a noise like a pup.

"Hello, little soldier." Sam beamed down at his boy. "You're home again! Back in the north. I can't wait to read you all of these books…hope you like stories about dragons."

* * *

Brienne was dressed in full armour as she strode towards the library, in which she had never set foot since arriving at Winterfell. She was sweating a little still from her training session with Pod that morning-he continued to make slow but determined progress-but had declined his offer of help removing her mail and plates. Her hair flopped over her forehead as she made her way through the castle-she had had enough sense to leave Oathkeeper with Pod as she did not wish to terrify this Samwell Tarly, but the armour made her feel stronger; and stopped her from turning around and running in the other direction. Though she was almost certain there was nothing to worry about, she felt as if her legs were made of lead.

Before she could poison the idea with her thoughts, she knocked hard on the library door.

There was a short silence-before she could hear a male voice, burbling as he approached the door: "….You remember Jon, don't you? Your Uncle Jon? Well, we'll find out in a minute, won't we, huh, pet? We'll give him a big hug, won't we? Won't we, hey?" The bolt slid open, and then the heavy wooden door was push through to reveal…a small, chubby man with a round, friendly face and a blonde toddler in his arms. "Say hello to…oh!" Instantly, as Samwell Tarly clapped eyes on Brienne, his face fell and his eyes widened. "Many apologies, uh, ser, I thought you were the Lord Commander." he said, jogging the child on his hip. Brienne looked at the little boy, who was staring hard at her as if he wasn't sure whether we was going to start crying or not.

"I am no ser and Jon Snow is no Lord Commander." she said shortly.

Samwell Tarly's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Oh, you're a…?" He looked her up and down, taking in her stature and armour. He puffed out a large mouthful of air. " _Well_ …"

"You are Samwell Tarly from the citadel?" Brienne asked, trying to ignore the hotness in her cheeks. This had been exactly the reaction she had dreaded. She wanted to turn on her heel and march back in the other direction.

"…Yes, yes!" Samwell Tarly stood upright, beaming-it was as if he suddenly grown a maester's chain and was wearing it with immense pride. "That's me."

Brienne looked around to check the corridor was deserted. "I…I wonder if I could have a word about…Sorry, have you just arrived?" She had spotted the bag on the floor behind him-this was her chance to escape. "I can-I can come back later-"

"Oh no!" Samwell Tarly insisted, still grinning. "I can't wait to get started! Come right in!"

Feeling as if she was walking to the stocks to be publically humiliated, Brienne reluctantly followed the man into the library. It was dark and shadowy-beside the fire, Brienne spotted a sleeping woman-presumably the mother of the child in Samwell Tarly's arms. She kept looking at the little boy, feeling strange as she did so. Samwell Tarly himself was settling in behind the desk in the corner, sitting the boy on his lap and motioning for Brienne to sit down opposite him. Slowly, she did so.

"Are you…Brienne of Tarth?" he asked, sounding a little in awe.

"Yes." She answered bluntly, making it clear she was not here for conversation. Luckily, Samwell Tarly picked up on this quickly.

"Now!" Samwell Tarly smiled, looking straight at her. "What can I help you with? An injury?" he asked hopefully, taking in her armour. "Some research?" he asked, even more hopefully.

"N-neither…" Brienne felt her insides tie themselves into knots. She looked from the sleeping woman to the child, who was trying to climb onto Samwell Tarly's shoulders. "Is there any possibility we could do this privately?" she asked desperately.

"Oh, don't mind us." Samwell reassured her. "Gilly's sound asleep and little Sam here will have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, will you?" He cooed to the little boy, who grinned vacantly back at him. Brienne noted the child's lack of teeth, those he had yet grown being very small and very white. His cheeks were chubby and rosy, his hair soft and light. Swallowing hard, she looked back at Samwell.

"Well…I…" Somehow, she could not get the words out.

"You can say anything, you know?" Samwell smiled calmingly at her. "And it will stay between us. That's the whole point of a maester."

Brienne's eyebrow rose a little, but she gritted her teeth. There was no point sitting here and putting off saying it like an idiot. She was not an idiot, although this Samwell Tarly may be. But she was not in a position to be picky. She had to say it. And she had to say it now.

"It's just…my blood never came this month." she blurted out quickly, feeling colour rising in her cheeks as she stared straight at the floor. "Or…or last month."

"Oh!" Samwell was not good at hiding his surprise. But quickly, he retained an air of professionalism. "Okay. Well, sometimes that can happen, you know. If your humours-"

"I _know_ it can happen," Brienne said quickly. The moment she had said the words aloud, it was as if cold fingers had closed around her heart. This was real. This was happening… "It is…incredibly _unusual_ for that to happen to me…and…and…I can't help being concerned that-that-"

"Ah." Samwell's eyes were still wide with surprise, but he coughed, trying to act as if he did this every day. "Right. I see. Well…um…" He looked around at the books surrounding them as if for inspiration. "Erm…when did you last…you know…" He made a vague gesture, flailing an arm.

" _What_?" Brienne frowned.

"Youknow…" Sam repeated the gesture desperately, then lowered his voice. " _lie_ with someone?"

Brienne felt her blush deepen. She quickly counted the days in her head. "It must have been eight weeks ago. Maybe eight and a half…"

"Okay…" Samwell nodded, shifting little Sam's position on his lap. "And…when did you last…urm…bleed?"

It took a little longer for Brienne to work this out. "About…two weeks before that…"

Sam breathed out hard. "Well, if you were looking to have a child, you couldn't have picked a better time to-"

"Yes, well obviously I _wasn't_ -!" Brienne snapped. Then, in a softer voice-"Sorry. I'm…I'm a little stressed…" The word " _child_ " had freaked her out more than she could have anticipated…she did not like the way Samwell Tarly was looking at her.

"That's okay." Samwell's voice had become even more pleasant and calming. It was almost annoying. "Anyone would be…" He reached across the table, as if to pat her hand-then clearly thought better of it, instead patting little Sam. "Now. Have you noticed any…anything like…vomiting?"

"Yes…" Brienne murmured, clutching the sides of her chair to stop her hands shaking.

"Often?"

"Yes. Most mornings…"

"Oh, right." Samwell raised his eyebrows, leaning his head to one side. "How about…tiredness?"

"...yes?" Brienne had never thought it might be relevant. She'd assumed it was stress.

"Well," Samwell sat up straight. "I would say that there probably isn't much question here. No blood for two months. Vomiting. Fatigue."

Brienne felt the cold fingers squeezing and squeezing her heart.

"I'm not a proper maester yet, but I think it's pretty clear."

Brienne forced herself to look him in the eyes. "Yes?" she almost whispered.

"I would say…you are…"

Brienne took a deep breath through her nose…then let it go. "…Moon tea." Her voice sounded odd. As if it didn't belong to her.

Samwell blinked. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes. Yes." Brienne got to her feet, which felt as if they were made of water. "That's what I need. If you would be so good as to prepare it…?"

"Er…Yes, yes of course." Samwell smiled reassuringly. "I will send word when it is ready."

"Good. Thank you. Good afternoon." Brienne turned sharply on her heel and walked as quickly as she could over to the door, and let it bang behind her in her haste to get away from Samwell Tarly and the smiling babe on his lap.

* * *

The moment Brienne had turned the corner…she collapsed against the wall, breathing hard, as if she had just run for miles. Her armour clanked as she sank down onto the floor. She felt hot and cold at the same time, a faint roaring in her ears as her face collapsed into her hands. Tears prickled threateningly behind her eyes.

She had known. Deep down she had known.

The roaring was getting louder, her vision more blurry…Quickly, she concentrated on her breathing, making it as steady as she could. Images were flashing before her eyes: Lady Sansa…Lady Catelyn…Pod…Jon Snow…her father- _oh Gods, if he knew_ …and Jaime…

She was needed by so many. Her duty was so important. She needed to protect Sansa, keep her promise to Lady Catelyn. Pod needed her. Jon needed all the men he could. She almost vomited all over again when she thought of her father's shame…and then there was Jaime.

Worst of all, the spectre of Cersei loomed in her mind…if it lived, a bastard of Jaime Lannister-for, Brienne realised with a start, the child inside her _was_ a bastard-was in greater danger than anyone in Westeros. The moment Cersei caught wind that her brother had produced a bastard with someone else, and she surely would, for the crown had spies everywhere, it was as good as dead and so was she.

So moon tea it was. She would drink it and this would all be over. No one needed to know this had ever happened. Especially not her father. Or Jaime…

Brienne did not know how long she sat in that empty corridor, one thought blurring into another. It might have been hours for all she knew. She looked down to the front of her armour, to her plackart, imagining something happening beneath the steel, beneath even her skin…her heart turned to ice. It seemed impossible. Brienne had never even considered the possibility of this before-she had always just assumed she would die childless. Getting pregnant and having children were things that happened to other girls, not Brienne. This was a world she knew almost nothing of. And now she had been thrown right into its depths. But it was okay. There was no way she could be a… _mother_ …and she didn't have to be. And besides, winter was coming fast. Not the time to bring another child into the world at all. She would drink the moon tea and it would all be over.

And yet…Snow was pelting the windows so hard she could hear the soft _thump…thump…thump…_

Brienne stared hard at her plackart. Her breathing was beginning to become more normal. Gingerly, she laid a hand on the bottom of her belly. It seemed impossible…and yet it was.

Her own child _. Jaime's_ child. The thought of it was almost more than she could bear.

She had lost Jaime, would probably never see him again…but she had him with her right that moment. He was with her, part of him taken root in her, growing into something that was half of himself. And half of her. A child. _Their_ child. Brienne had never imagined having a child before, except in fleeting moments which were dismissed as quickly as they came. But now…she found that both her steel arms had wrapped themselves protectively. around her belly. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine-a baby, a child like the one in Samwell's arms, but with Jaime's golden hair…and he would be hers, in her arms, smiling the way little Sam smiled, but with _Jaime's_ smile… The moon tea suddenly sounded far less appealing. And the child inside her…far more.

Brienne slowly got to her feet. It was as if something had awakened inside her that had never stirred before. The icy fear in her heart was joined by ferocious fire, the most powerful flames in the world, so completely overwhelming they were impossible for her to comprehend. They became a part of her so suddenly, and yet it was as if they had always been there, and they would never leave as long as she lived. It was a little while before she realised what it was. It was love, a kind of love she had never felt before. The kind of love that consumed and intoxicated, and yet left you not helpless but determined and more powerful than ever. Lord Selwyn Tarth suddenly seemed incredibly insignificant, the threat of Cersei Lannister somehow possible to overcome, for she would protect this child from dragons and all creatures of the Long Night, let alone mortal men. It was love for her child, Jaime's child, who did not even exist yet, but whose presence she felt more keenly than any man living, who was more real to her than anyone she could see…

"My Lady?"

Brienne was sharply brought back into reality. She blinked until her eyes cleared enough for her to see a pale man with a mop of dark curls and deep brown eyes. "My Lord?" she managed to say, her voice oddly misty.

"Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Jon grinned, though he was frowning.

"I'm fine, my lord. Thank you." Brienne answered quickly. "If you will excuse me, I must return to your sister's side." She gave a small bow and began to walk away.

"Did you see Sam in there?" Jon called to her.

"Yes, he's there!" she called back. Then-she stopped and turned on her heel. "If you would be good enough…tell him…tell him I said I no longer require it."

"It?" Jon looked mystified, and a little suspicious.

"Just "it"." Brienne managed a smile. "He'll know what I mean. Thank you, my Lord. Seven blessings!"

"Erm…seven blessings to you, my lady."

Brienne heard the library door open and shut as she hurried along the corridor. Guilt twinged inside her at the small lie she had told him; she would return to Lady Sansa, but not before…she had sent another raven. She had to. It was right. It was probably pointless. He would never come. But it was right.

* * *

 _Ser Jaime Lannister,_

 _You left something in Riverrun. Please ride immediately for Winterfell._

 _Brienne of Tarth._


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! I am overwhelmed with the support for this story! Please continue to do so! More tomorrow, hope you are all well and happy xxx**

 **"** No, Pod," Brienne gently corrected her squire's grip on the bow. "You must pull back _before_ you aim upwards, not after. Otherwise you can't get the full force."

"Yes, my lady." Pod eyed the highest straw target again, dug his feet firmly into the snow, pulled back, then aimed the arrow. Quickly, like she had taught him, he released…

"Better. Much better." Brienne patted him on the back. "Now, if you could hit the target next time, that would be wonderful."

Pod sighed. "I'm a rubbish shot, my lady."

"Not at all. You've improved a lot these last few weeks." Brienne said breezily. "You hesitate too much, that's all. You lose some of the tension…" She looked up at the sky, which was the colour of elephant skin. "It will be dark soon. Three more arrows and we will call it a night."

Pod bent down and retrieved another arrow from the quiver on the ground. But then, instead of loading, he looked back up at her. "Er…sorry if this is not my place to ask, my lady. It's just…when will we be getting back to actual combat?"

Brienne swallowed hard. "Soon, Pod. We're making your skill set as well rounded as we can, remember?"

"Yes…but…I do miss swords, you know? They're a lot more my thing than bows."

"I…am going to find someone else for you to practise with. You shouldn't get used to fighting the same person all the time. It's not good for your instincts."

"My lady?" Pod lowed his bow and turned to her. His eyes were wide. "You wouldn't train me anymore?"

"No, of course I would train you, Pod. You would just actually _fight_ with…someone else. Not good for your instincts to fight me all the time, remember?" She could not look her squire in the eyes.

Pod frowned. Simple as he could be sometimes, he wasn't stupid. "Is there something wrong, my lady?"

"Of course not, Pod." Brienne said, a little too quickly. "I want you to continue to improve, rather than be stuck in a rut. Now, three more arrows."

Pod tilted his head to one side as he looked at her…but he turned back to the target. As he aimed again, Brienne felt a surge of guilt, not being honest with her squire. It had been _three_ months-three whole months-with no blood now…there was no question. She was, undoubtedly …Though she still guarded Lady Sansa with Oathkeeper in hand, she did not want to take unnecessary risks with Pod-he _was_ improving with the sword, and if he managed to hit her, it could be disastrous…

She was still getting used to the idea. Though the sickness was beginning to ease off, it was every single day that new things would hit her about what it would actually mean to have this baby. All her younger siblings having died before she could remember them clearly, along with her mother whom she barely recalled, she realised she knew almost nothing about it. She had managed to find some books in the library and read them at night by candlelight, and each one scared her more than the last. There was so much _involved_ …the hard work and stress they warned of did not scare her, of course. And just thinking about her lion's baby...but the first problem would come as it became harder to hide the fact she was pregnant. Nothing showed yet, thank goodness, but according to her books it would not be much longer before the inevitable. She found it difficult to imagine that a time would come in the not too distant future when her armour would not fit and she would not be able to stand guard for hours, nor even move quickly or swing Oathkeeper…

But it wouldn't be forever. As she taught Pod to fire arrows, she imagined teaching her child someday…she was sure he would be far more skilled than her squire, especially considering who his father was…

She had summoned Jaime to Winterfell in order to tell him face to face, because he deserved to know, but she was too smart to expect him to stay or do anything else. His home was Kings Landing, with his sister… _her majesty_ now, the very thought of which had rage bubbling inside her…Besides, she did not want the world to know her child's parentage, which was part of the reason she had not sent the news in a letter. She thought of Jaime's other children; the evil tyrant Joffrey, the sweet angel Myrcella…Tommen, not much more than a baby himself… _dead_. All dead.

She had wept when news of Tommen's death reached the north, and harder still when she heard that Queen Margaery and Ser Loras were gone too. Tommen was just a _child_ …Margaery had always been kind to her…Ser Loras, though she had once resented him for his relationship with Renly, had not deserved to die as he did, a broken man. It killed her to think of the great fighter she had battled with so many times was now so unjustly dead…

But Tommen haunted her…the news had hit her so much harder than she could have expected. She supposed it was the thought of his baby face, flecks of Jaime woven into it, so similar to the one she imagined her baby would have…But hardest of all, it confirmed how dangerous it was to be a Lannister child, for all of Jaime's children were buried in shrouds long before their time…

That was why she had decided that their child, even if Jaime proposed it, would not be given the bastard name Hill. It would tell the world who he was, and put him in danger from the very cradle, something Brienne would never allow as long as she lived. It was not likely that Jaime would suggest it-especially since Cersei would be the first to hear of a new Western bastard and put two and two together…Brienne could not bear to think of what Cersei would do to a child of Jaime's which was not hers…But if he did, out of honour or respect for her, she would decline-though, she was unsure what the protocol then was. She could not name him Tarth, for her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth, when he knew of her pregnancy (a thought almost as terrifying as that of Cersei), would never allow it. But perhaps she could name him Storm, like the other Eastern bastards of the Stormlands. She was a noblewoman after all, and she would certainly acknowledge her child. Why shouldn't she give him the name if the bastards of males could have it?

Naming her child…the very thought of it was absolutely insane…

"Good shot, Pod. We'll make a marksman of you yet."

* * *

Snow fell a foot thick on Winterfell that night. It started during dinner, and did not stop even when the castle was plunged into darkness. Fires were lit, torches ignited, extra furs donned. No one wished to go outside, for one could see one's breath before one's very eyes like dragonsmoke. Nonetheless, when Lady Sansa expressed her wish to make a trip to the kennels long after night had fallen, it was Brienne's duty to accompany her. With a strong sense of duty keeping her warm and her boots crunching in the snow, Brienne followed her lady into the yard.

Lady Sansa did not speak to her until they were close enough to hear the hounds barking ferociously. "Do they scare you?" she asked.

"No, my lady." The hilt of Oathkeeper felt like ice in her hand.

"They used to scare me," Sansa said, as they entered the kennels. She did not seem to feel the cold as Brienne did. As soon as they did so, the hounds began to howl and throw themselves against the bars of their cages. "I adore them now."

"Excellent, my lady." Brienne looked at the huge animals. They were a little fatter than they had been under Ramsay's care, for then they were skeletal, due to frequent periods of starvation-however, since his death, Sansa had personally ensured they were fed like kings every day. Despite this, they still shrieked like famished beasts. Brienne supposed it was force of habit. She felt a little uneasy-it was not the hounds that unnerved her, but the knowledge of their old master's death, the manner of it, and the fact it had happened on this spot. She spotted a bone on the floor, a long, thin bone, and felt sick imagining where it might have come from…

Lady Sansa showed no such discomfort. She walked right up to the bars of the cage. Instantly, every dog ran to her, barking fit to burst. The noise was deafening, but Sansa did not flinch. Instead, she looked the animals firmly in the eyes and said, quietly, but firmly:

"Down."

Almost instantly, every dog closed its mouth and sat down.

Sansa gave a satisfied smile. She reached into her pocket, and brought out some scraps of meat from the dinner table. Every dog smelled the food; mouths drooled, tails waged, small howls of longing were emitted. Calmly, Lady Sansa placed pieces of meat on the ground, one in front of the nose of every single dog. It was almost too much for them-they sniffed the air frantically, scraped their paws, whined…but not one gobbled up the treat as they longed to, for Lady Sansa, in that quiet, but firm voice, had told them:

"Wait."

She waited, holding up her hands. The hounds watched her frantically, waiting for the next command. Finally, after leaving them waiting as long as she pleased, Lady Sansa smiled down at them.

"Go on, then."

As the meat disappeared down each dog's throat, Lady Sansa turned from them and started back towards the castle. Gratefully, Brienne followed her, feeling nothing but pride for her charge. She loved Lady Sansa as she had loved Lady Catelyn, whom she grew more like each day. Feeling a pang for the girl's dead mother, Brienne looked at Sansa's long, red plait swinging down her back, woven with snowflakes now, and once again privately swore and oath to protect her from all further harm.

"If only Lord Ramsay had been possessed of half of the manners of his hounds."

"Quite, my lady."

* * *

After her watch outside Lady Sansa's chamber had ended that night, Brienne finally relaxed. She stretched out her muscles and joints as she waited for her replacement to come. She hoped he would not be long-she found she was more grateful than ever for her bed and its soft furs each night. Sure enough, she soon heard footsteps approaching from the next corridor. She gave a sigh of relief-it was so cold, her hands were almost numb. It would be nice to be able to warm them in-

But no knight appeared. Instead-a small man with greying hair and a moustache, dressed completely in black.

"Lord Baelish?" Brienne was surprised. Quickly, she stood up straight again, standing directly in front of Sansa's door.

"Lady Brienne." Littlefinger's accent sounded more lyrical than ever as he bowed low. He smiled smoothly up at her. "How are you tonight?"

"Well." she answered shortly. "What is your business here at this hour?" Brienne made no secret of the fact that she did not trust Littlefinger as far as she could throw him. Though she could probably throw him a long way, and would dearly like to…

Littlefinger contined to smile as charmingly as he could, despite her scowl. "I would be granted an audience with the Lady Sansa. May I pass?"

"You may not." Brienne drew herself up as tall as she could-which was far taller than her adversary, and she could see Lord Baelish knew this. "Lady Sansa is sleeping. You may speak with her in the morning."

Littlefinger raised an eyebrow. "I am her uncle by law." he said, his voice softer, more threatening. "I would speak with my niece."

"You may speak with her tomorrow, _my lord_ ," Brienne glared at him. "And only if she would speak with you."

Though Littlefinger smiled still, his eyes had turned ice cold. Suddenly-he took a step toward her.

Brienne did not know what happened. She had meant to reach for Oathkeeper warningly, and see Lord Baelish off. But somehow-she had missed. Instead-purely by instinct, without her instruction-both of her arms had wrapped themselves protectively over her belly.

Quickly, Brienne realised her mistake and grabbed Oathkeeper by the hilt, trying not to blush. Luckily, Baelish did not appear to have noticed. Instead, he took a step backward. "Fine. Fine." he murmured, raising his hands in defeat. "Steady on."

"Goodnight, Lord Baelish." Brienne retained her dignity, motioning for him to leave.

"Goodnight," Littlefinger made to leave. Then, he turned his head back. "Lady Brienne." He gave her a long, searching look…Finally, he started away down the corridor.

Brienne breathed out hard, loosening her grip on Oathkeeper. It must have been the presence of such a dangerous man…but her new instinct had scared her. It seemed as if her entire body had been thrown off-balance…

Finally, when her replacement turned up, Brienne returned quickly to her chamber. She closed the door behind her and began to undress, removing her armour and mail piece by piece and carefully hanging it up, as she did every night. When it was done, she caught sight of herself in the looking-glass on the wall, her long, slender body even paler in the moonlight. She gently flexed her arm muscles, very sharply defined, then her legs. They were the only parts of herself she liked-the muscles were such a part of her, the only part of the outside she felt represented the inside…Turning to one side, her eyes fell to the bottom of her belly. She scrutinised it, as she did every night now. Still flat. Still no sign….although…perhaps it was not quite as flat anymore…perhaps it was a little bit more…It was probably her imagination.

Quickly, Brienne pulled the long, white nightgown over her head and got into bed, letting the furs warm her. She curled up on her side, still yet unused to the softness after sleeping rough for so long. Her arms folded themselves over her belly and she imagined Jaime's child, safe and invisible, still secret from all the world…her eyes began to close…

A knock at the door.

Brienne raised her head reluctantly…

Another knock. This time-loud banging.

Brienne sprang into action. She seized Oathkeeper and made her way over to the door, gritting her teeth. "Identify yourself!" she called warningly through the wood, her sword by her side.

A pause.

"Brienne?" came a voice from the other side of the door. It was a voice Brienne knew as well as her own, a voice that was both smooth and rough, a voice that haunted her dreams every night. A voice that made her jump out of her skin.

"It's me." murmured Jaime Lannister.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, favourite-ing, following and reviewing! Please continue to do so-I take all of your comments on board in order to make this the best it can be. I read something from someone picking me up on my use of inappropriate modern language in this setting, but it seems to have disappeared so thank you to whoever said that and I will be much more careful! Much love xxx**

 **The story will start getting a bit pacier now, so stick around for more tomorrow! xxx**

Brienne started. She stepped back from the door, taking several deep breaths. She couldn't believe it. It had been such a small chance that Jaime would even come, let alone show up within a month of her writing. And now he was outside her door. Just inches away from her. It seemed so impossible that she daren't open the door.

"Brienne?" he called again. "Open the door. Its freezing out here. Damn the North. Damn the entire North and its bloody draughts."

Brienne reached for the bolt…then retracted her hand.

"Ser Jaime?" she asked, not daring yet to believe it.

"Of course. It _was_ me you wrote to, yes? Or did you misspell someone else's name? Ser Gregor Clegane, perhaps?"

Brienne felt her insides turn to liquid. There was no question. It was Jaime. Again, she reached for the bolt…then her hand dropped to her side again. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Brienne?" Jaime had begun to sound impatient. "Come on. I rode night and day to get here. You have no idea how difficult it was to leave Kings Landing in the…current state of affairs. Had to tell Her Grace that I was needed at the Twins. I dropped a large bag of gold there to make sure that Walder Frey's children would confirm my presence among them if necessary, so _that_ added another few days' detour. Then, upon _finally_ getting here, Ned Stark's bastard interrogates me and threatens to imprison me with bloody hounds, until I showed him your note, and _then_ he sent for Podrick Payne, who I really am _gobsmacked_ is still alive, to confirm your handwriting, which took him about another hour. And even that didn't sway him. It really is a sad day when it takes _Littlefinger_ to insist I be allowed to see you-"

" _Littlefinger_?" Brienne was more confused than ever. "Is he still here? Why would Jon listen to _him_?"

"For the sake of the gods, Brienne, _I_ don't know. Anyway, eventually Jon Snow let me up the stairs " _as a gesture of good faith for ensuring his sister's safety and to begin to barter a non-offensive peace between the North and the crown_ "." Jaime scoffed. "We have Lord Baelish's silver tongue to thank for that drivel. So, here I am-with escort."

"Escort?" Brienne took another step back. She could hear more voices muttering. "Who else is there?"

"Er, let's see…" Jaime paused theatrically. "In the corridor tonight we have: the afore mentioned Podrick Payne, Lord Baelish himself, four knights of the Vale I don't care about, and a bloody _wildling_ with red hair."

Brienne could hear Tormund breathing hard. "I can't believe _you_ are the one they call Kingslayer, cripple! Do you think your fucking Southern father's name is going to protect you if Jon Snow orders me to kill you and your smart-mouthed friend right now?"

"Oh, _that's_ nice," came another voice, smoky and drawling. "I've been riding for weeks too, only to get here and be threatened with dogs and cells." It was Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Jaime's companion. "I refuse to spend too long in a building where _Podrick_ fucking _Payne_ is more respected than I am, so if _my lady_ would deign to open the door-"

"You'll watch your fucking tongue in the presence of the lady!" Tormund thundered, and Brienne heard the sound of a slap, followed by Bronn swearing again.

"Well, we're not in the presence of any lady yet." Jaime sounded more exasperated by the minute. "Brienne, _please_ open the door and tell these men I'm not going to murder you, or kidnap Lady Sansa, or sack Winterfell, or whatever it is they think I'm going to do with one hand and an aging sellsword. Just open the door."

Brienne gritted her teeth, and leaned against the wood. "There is no need for half of Winterfell to be here." she declared, sounding more confident than she felt. "I wish to speak to the Kingslayer alone."

"No!" Tormund snarled. "I will not allow it. You may speak with this _Kingslayer_ with my knife to his throat!"

"Excuse me?" Brienne drew herself up, putting on her most authoritative tone. "Did _you_ just try to give _me_ orders?"

There was a pause. "No." Tormund muttered, sounding sheepish. "Of course not, my lady."

"Then take these men away, and I will speak with the Kingslayer."

"My lady, are you sure this is wise?" Pod piped up. "Surely _someone_ should stay with you. I could-"

"Pod, it's a sweet sentiment, but do you _really_ think you could protect me better than I can?" Brienne sighed impatiently.

"Lady Brienne," came another voice, smooth and lyrical. "has told you what she wants. You should respect her wishes. I trust that we are in no danger from Ser Jaime tonight."

Brienne felt a strange shiver down her spine.

"But Lord Baelish," Pod was beginning to sound desperate. "If he escaped and-"

"He will not." Brienne insisted, keeping her voice authoritative. "I have urgent business to discuss with the Kingslayer, and... if he tries anything, I will put a sword through him myself."

"I don't believe that will be necessary. Your, ah, Lord Snow and I wish for this to be fast and peaceful."said Littlefinger. "However, to ensure the Kingslayer's compliance, Jon Snow and I have agreed that it would be wise to keep Ser Bronn in our custody. As a show of trust. If Ser Jaime leaves this castle peacefully, so will Ser Bronn."

"Ah, fuck..." Bronn sighed long-sufferingly as he was lead away by the four knights of the Vale. Next, after a colourfully-phrased warning to Jaime, Tormund left. The corridor outside Brienne's chamber was almost quiet. Nearly everyone had left. She waited a few moments more.

"Ser Jaime," came the voice of Littlefinger, as composed as ever. "I am sure your family will remember this…favour I have done for you. I am aware your sister believes you to be at the Twins, and I am prepared to support that story, and I will ensure that Jon Snow makes no noises to the contrary. However, I must ask that you do exactly as you say you will-to speak with Lady Brienne and then leave. Jon Snow must heed my wishes for now, as I recently ensured his victory against House Bolton...a house allied once with your own."

"There should always be a Stark in Winterfell." Jaime murmured. Brienne was more surprised than ever. "The fate of the Young Wolf and his mother was never something I supported. I respected Catelyn."

"I know you did." Brienne could hear that Littlefinger was smiling. "Jon Snow must be mindful towards me, for I control a large portion of his combined forces. He knows that you helped ensure Lady Sansa's safety in sending Lady Brienne, as a promise to Lady Catelyn. However, it would be a great insult to Catelyn's memory if you were to break your word to him-you are to speak with Lady Brienne and then I am to personally escort you and Ser Bronn from the castle. Nontheless…" Baelish paused, before his voice took on a tone of grandeur. "Above all, I wish to keep the crown in good faith with the Vale, despite helping to destroy a one-time Lannister ally. I trust you will sway Her Grace in the right…ah, direction…in her regards towards me."

Jaime paused. Brienne made a face behind the door-this was exactly like Littlefinger, to speak in a manner so confusing that his listener often agreed to things they never knew they had agreed to. "Of course, Lord Baelish." Jaime mumbled, already sounding regretful. "Thank you for your assistance…"

"Yes, Ser Jaime. I will give you some privacy. If you are wise, you won't be long. I am not sure how long Snow's patience will hold, and I do not trust that his Wildlings can ever be completely in his grasp...I shall be waiting for you, Ser Jaime." There was a short pause, and then- "I hope this night will mark the re-kindling of the friendship between myself and your house. I am now your most powerful ally in the northern states. Please ensure that Her Grace is aware of this."

Brienne heard a final set of footsteps walking away. Slowly, she reached for the bolt, and slid it open. The door creaked a massive amount, seemingly even more than usual, as if it were a fanfare. There, on the other side of the door, dressed in Lannister mail and plates, with a scarlet cloak lined with fur, golden hand glinting at his side, mud on his boots and a new bloody cut on his cheek, was Ser Jaime Lannister.

Behind him, for a split second, a small figure, dressed all in black, with greying hair and a moustache, passed through Brienne's gaze like a shadow. But Jaime did not notice. His eyes were locked firmly upon her. "Gods." Jaime commented, looking down at the sword in her hand. He stared at her, his voice sounding odd. "You really were expecting The Mountain."

Brienne's heart was doing backflips.

"Ser Jaime." she greeted him, watching at him as if she could never look long enough.

"Brienne..." He looked directly back into her eyes. As their gazes locked...it was as if they were transported back to the time they last saw one another. Not that final farewell from the battlements…their real farewell, in that tent…Brienne wanted more than anything to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was real, just to feel his golden skin again…She stared into those blue eyes that had never been far from her thoughts since the day they had met, and they stared right back…Ser Jaime was _here_ , with _her_ …His eyes…they were…they looked…strange? Exhausted. The eyes of a broken man. But…more than that. They were…they were…misting over. They were…filling with _water_ …they were…

Suddenly, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, fell to his knees at Brienne's feet.

* * *

Littlefinger sat down quietly at a desk in a room not too far from Brienne's chamber. He leaned back on the wooden chair, a smile playing around his lips. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel content. It was very, _very_ sweet to play games with highborns...and the prize was even sweeter...He closed his eyes, knowing that he was one step closer...

But he could not rest on his laurels for too long. There was still so much work to be done.

Littlefinger looked up at the four knights of the Vale, who stood to attention, waiting beside the door for his orders. It felt immeasurably good to be in charge of other men, to have them entirely under your control. He smiled again. "We will wait a little while longer. Let the Kingslayer relax and let his guard down. We must be patient, must we not?"

The knights said nothing. Baelish continued to smile. He looked to the man closest to the door. "Would you kindly go to Jon Snow and inform him that we are waiting a little longer before we act?"

With a stone-faced, blank expression, the knight nodded before marching purposefully from the room.

Baelish felt powerful. It was like the moment in a game of chess when one's opponent believes you to be going one way and moves to block accordingly, before one sweeps in for the kill out of nowhere. Only he had not planned to execute a simple cross. Oh no. This was a classic double-cross. Or even a _triple-cross_. Littlefinger had lost count, and this thought put another, wider smile on his face. Opening a draw and reaching in, he pulled out a scrap of parchment, a quill and ink. Setting these items down, he prepared to write South, hoping the ravens were ready for a very long journey...As his knights waited, his quill, at great speed, began to scratch...

* * *

" _Burn them all_ ….that's what he said. The M-Mad King…. _burn them all_ …"

"I know…" Brienne murmured softly, her arms wrapped around Jaime, who furiously wiped away his tears with his good hand, the gold one resting in her lap. He leaned his head on her chest, shoulders shaking. Brienne had managed to guide the broken man into her chamber before closing the door behind them. On any other occasion, she would have berated him for his sobs. But now, all she could do was kneel beside him and hold him tightly. It killed her to see such a warrior so utterly distraught. Determinedly blinking back her own tears, she comforted him as best she could.

"I…I thought I'd seen everything…all the horrors the entire fucking world could throw up…but that smoke…all that _smoke_ …" Jaime whispered. "And the sept…it's gone. Everything around it…is gone…and I…I couldn't save them...all those people…I was too late…they…they burned because I was too late…" He attempted to swallow another shuddering sob, but it bubbled out of him, more tears coursing down his face.

" _No_." Brienne shook her head, her heart breaking all over again. "No. You can't think like that. There was nothing you could have done."

"I saved them before!" Jaime choked. It was as if everything he had been holding onto for weeks was spilling out of him like a huge waterfall and there was no stopping the flow. "I saved them last time. I could have saved them again. They're dead because of… _me_ …" He swallowed hard, looking up at Brienne desperately. "I didn't do enough. I wasn't there to save them...Margaery…Loras…Mace…" He sniffed, looking more distressed be the second. "Uncle Kevan…even _Lancel_ … they were my own _blood_ …" More tears. Jaime wiped them away so furiously his cheek was stained red from the friction.

"It was not your fault." Brienne kept her voice as steady as she could. "You _have_ to listen to me. _It was not your fault_."

Jaime rolled his eyes and looked down. With a hissing noise, Brienne grabbed his face in her hand and forced him to look back up at her.

"Listen!" she shouted at him. "Stop. There was nothing- _nothing_ you could have done!" She begged him now. "It was a terrible, terrible tragedy, but you did _not_ place the wildfire and you did _not_ light the flames!"

Jaime looked unfocusedly up at her. "No…" He coughed. "Cersei…Cersei did it…" he whispered.

The spectre of the queen rose again in Brienne's mind. She did not know what to say. She looked at Jaime helplessly, waiting.

"The…" Jaime began. "The _woman_ on that throne…that's not…that's not my _sister_ …"

Brienne said nothing.

"That's not _my_ Cersei…" Jaime shook his head, blinking hard. " _My_ Cersei…she... _she burned with them_ …" Jaime's eyes widened in horror as if the process was flashing before his eyes. "Whatever made her who she used to be…it's gone." More tears. He buried his face in Brienne's chest again and made a sound like a horse who was dying slowly. " _My_ Cersei…she had her moments…she made bad choices…but she wasn't- _evil_ …She _wasn't_ …a...a _mad_ woman _._.."

Brienne held him as tightly as she could.

"All those people…" Jaime whispered again. "Men, women…children…" A sob. " _My_ children. _My children_ …" Tears fell down his cheeks more rapidly than ever, but he made no move to stop them. "My boy…my last boy…" he moaned. Jaime had begun to shake. His breathing had become ragged, heated, far too fast. "He…he-jumped…but…but _she_ …whoever that woman is now… _she pushed him_ …"

It was no use any more. Brienne's own tears flowed thick and fast. For the city, for every lost life, for Margaery and her family, for the child king with his baby face…and for Jaime, who cried his heart out in her arms. There was no way of knowing how long they stayed there, grieving together. Brienne did not feel the cold stone floor, the chill through her nightdress, anything except the man she loved. She would have given anything- _anything_ -to stop his tears. But she could only give her own.

Finally, Jaime raised his head. His cheeks had crusted over with dampness. There were no more tears left in him. His eyes were dry and red. "S-sorry," he croaked.

"Don't you dare apologise." Brienne's own voice was thick and shaking. "Don't you dare."

He was still looking up at her, his long, light eyelashes stuck together with tears. "I…as soon as your raven came…as soon as it came…I knew it was a sign from the gods that I had to leave. I knew I had to go. I couldn't stay in Kings Landing, in the Red Keep…I know I'll have to go back, but…I couldn't stay there…with her…with _everyone_. I told Bronn we were riding north that day. That day…they buried my baby boy in the ashes…" He reached and grabbed her hand in his. "I just…I just wanted to be…with _you._ No one else. Just you."

Brienne was silent. She felt her own hand trembling in Jaime's. The raven…Suddenly, Brienne remembered why she had sent the raven in the first place. The trembling continued tenfold.

"You...I need you, Brienne…thank the gods you weren't in Kings Landing that day… _thank the gods_ …" he whispered, gripping her hand tighter. "Thank the gods you were up here, and I could come to you. You are…you are the only one who understands."

Brienne covered Jaime's good hand with her other, so she held it between both of her own hands. "You can always come to me. Always. I'll be there for you. Even if I'm on the other side of the world. You will always be able to find me."

Jaime almost smiled-then sighed like a man who had lived a thousand weary lifetimes. "Oh Brienne…the most loyal warrior who ever lived…We should never have left that tent…"

Brienne's heart began to race.

Jaime sat up straight, letting go of her so suddenly, as if she was boiling hot. He wiped his cheeks furiously, grunting like a soldier. "It's late. So late. I'm sorry I kept you awake. I must now be escorted back to Lord Baelish so he can _escort_ me from the premises." He scoffed. "As if I care about fucking politics and power now..."

Brienne suddenly felt freezing cold without the warmth of his body. She replayed his words again and again in her mind to make sure he had really said them: _We should never have left that tent… We should never have left that tent…_

There was a silence as Jaime shakily got to his feet. He gave his face another furious wipe, then looked down at her, still knelt before him on the floor. "Why _did_ you send the raven?" he asked, almost like an afterthought.

Brienne felt a dark shadow fall across her face. Cold fingers wrapped themselves around her heart again as she looked up at the broken man she loved more than ever. She opened her mouth...but no sound came out.

"Brienne?" Jaime frowned. He crouched to the ground. "Brienne? What's happened?" His voice had an edge of fear to it. Touching her cheek gently with his good hand, he looked straight into her eyes. " _Brienne_?" he asked, more urgently.

Brienne opened her mouth again-then closed it. "It…it doesn't matter. It's late, like you said. We shouldn't keep Lord Baelish waiting. Jon Snow will be awake too, watching to make sure you leave the castle. And-"

"No!" Jaime's eyes were wide. "Please, _please_ don't make me lose sleep over you as well. Tell me what's happened? It can't be anything too terrible…can it?"

Brienne couldn't speak. The cold fingers squeezed harder.

" _Please_?" Jaime begged, still cradling her face.

She had no choice.

"Jaime…" she began.

"What's happened to you, Brienne? Tell me. _Please_. I can't bear it." Suddenly-he leaned over and kissed her.

Brienne was caught completely off-guard as his lips met hers. She had spent every night since they had parted longing to feel them again…all of the blood rushed out of her head. There was nothing except his lips against hers. It was a deep kiss, a desperate kiss, filled with dread and tasting of salt tears…she felt the warmth of his good hand on her cheek, the coldness of his gold hand ice against her thigh…

All too quickly, Jaime broke it off. "I'm sorry." he gasped.

"No!" Brienne found herself breathless. Still feeling the shadow of his kiss on her lips, she stared back at Jaime, who beseeched her with red eyes.

"You know you can trust me, Brienne. You know how much you mean to me. For the sake of the old gods and the new gods and every god there is, tell me what has happened to you!"

A pause. The longest pause of Brienne's life.

"I…I'm…pregnant."


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey! Thank you so much for reading, favourite-ing, following and reviewing! Means the world-I heart all of you :D please continue to do so, more tomorrow as always! I won't keep you any longer... xxx**

It was as if Jaime Lannister had turned to stone. His jaw was slack, yet locked, his eyes open, yet glazed over, his hand resting on Brienne's cheek, yet barely touching her. Snow pelted the window outside- _thump, thump, thump_ …it was the only thing that proved that time had not stopped completely.

Brienne watched him, tears prickling again behind her eyes. She waited. And waited.

Finally, Jaime blinked. Slowly, he removed his hand from her face. Even slower…he opened his mouth to speak.

"You're…you're certain?" His voice sounded completely disconnected from himself.

Pressing her lips together, Brienne nodded once. She waited.

"And…" Jaime seemed to be having trouble forming words in his mouth. He tried three times before finally managing. "It's…it's mine?"

"You know there is no one else."

Jaime gave her a long look…then leaned back against the wood of the door behind him. He took a deep breath in, and let it go slowly, rubbing his forehead with his good hand while his other lay slack. No sooner had he looked back at her-then he had again looked away. His jaw pulsated slightly as his face grew paler. Behind his eyes, it was as if a million calculations were flashing through his brain, each with a worse outcome than the last. He blinked again. Several times, as if clearing dust from his eyes.

Slowly, with his good hand, Jaime began to undo the buckles and straps attaching his golden hand to his stump. This took him about a minute. When he had freed himself from the last strap, he removed the hand. Gradually, he laid it down on the floor. Then, in one swift movement-he batted it hard with his stump. It squeaked along the floor, making strange scraping noises, until finally-CLANG. It hit the wall on the other side of the room.

Brienne was silent.

Slowly, Jaime turned back to face her. "You are absolutely certain?"

"Yes…" Brienne whispered, biting back her tears. "I…I'm so sorry-"

"Oh no, none of that." Suddenly, Jaime's voice had become stronger, warmer. "Oh…come here." Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around her. Too exhausted, scared and confused to protest, Brienne let herself be held, burying her face in his shoulder. Now, it was Jaime's turn to comfort _her_. A few sobs escaped, and she did not bother to repress them. Jaime kissed her hair, his own voice thick. "Oh Brienne...the strongest woman in the seven kingdoms, stronger than I could ever hope to be...you can be strong now, I know you can. You've always made me stronger...we must both be strong now."

"You're…you're not angry?" she managed to choke out into his pauldron.

Jaime paused. "Not at you. Never at you…" he murmured into her hair. "It's me. I…I was a fool…"

"No!" Brienne protested, grabbing his arm. "Don't you dare blame yourself! Share it with me," she begged.

"Oh, Brienne…" Jaime sighed. There was a long while where neither of them spoke. The first rays of dawn were beginning to show through the curtains, shining a weak light into the room through the snow. They sat, like survivors of a shipwreck, amid the chaos around them, and did not move, simply letting the absurdity and strangeness of their situation wash over them like waves over wreckage…

Finally, Jaime raised his head. He looked down, giving Brienne a long, searching look. She looked straight back at him.

Jaime's mouth had become a straight line. His eyes grew wide...then narrow again. Then...they relaxed.

Gently, so carefully, Jaime helped Brienne to her feet. He steadied her. Then, slowly, he unfastened his great red cloak. Walking around to her back, he reached up, and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm-so warm, not just from the fur but from the heat of his body. "You must be freezing." he whispered. Slowly, he walked back around to face her. Then- he knelt to the ground. On one knee.

Brienne stopped breathing.

Slowly, Jaime pulled his sword from its scabbard. It was a beautiful thing, if battered and stained, it was once clearly glorious. But he laid it on the ground at her feet. He then looked up at her, eyes wide and purer than Brienne had ever seen them before. He looked like a new man. Finally…he spoke.

"Brienne…" he murmured, more to himself than her. Then-his voice became clearer, solid and true. "I offer my services to you, Lady Brienne of House Tarth…I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be…I swear it by the old gods and the new." He kept eye contact with her the whole time, speaking the words slowly.

Brienne's heart felt as if it had stopped. It was not what she had, wildly, for a fleeting, insane moment, imagined what was about to happen...but as she looked down at Jaime, knelt before her, battered from the road, bleeding...his words were so much more beautiful than anything she could have invented in her mind. If her own words had not been set down for her hundreds of years ago, she would never have spoken. They did not seem quite apt, but they were _something_. "And…and I…" she began. "I vow that you shall always have a place at my hearth and at my table…and I pledge to ask no service of you that might bright you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new…" She looked down at him, finding those newly warm, blue eyes staring straight back, knowing they reflected the fear and uncertainty in her own. But _this_ was certain. The words were as old as time. Feeling the heavy cloak on her shoulders, Brienne knew that this was serious.

"And I…" Jaime's voice was becoming stronger by the word. He reached up, taking her right hand in his good one, and offering his poor stump to her left. She took it gently, feeling its smooth, new skin beneath her fingers. She liked him so much more without the cold, golden hand-his own skin was warm and golden enough. Bringing her hands to his lips, Jaime kissed her hands fiercely, holding on tight. "I vow I will never desert you now. I will keep you safe from all harm. I will take care of you…and my child…" His eyes finally came to rest on her belly. He took several deep breaths, his eyes closed, before looking back up at her. "I will take care of you both for as long as I live. I swear to you now that our child will be sheltered, shielded and…loved…beyond anything any child could want or need…" Leaning into her, Jaime kissed her belly, softly, tenderly…as he did so, the ice in Brienne's heart melted. It was as if everything had slotted into place. A tear spilled down her cheek as she held on him as tightly as she could. "I swear it by the old gods and the new." Jaime finished.

There was a long silence, as the knight knelt on the ground before the warrior. Jaime was still as a marble statue. Finally… "May I arise?" Jaime looked up at her, the ghost of a smile around his lips.

"No." Brienne whispered to him. She knelt down herself, still holding his hand and where his hand once was, his cloak pooling on the ground behind her. She knew that no vows made were ever more solemn. Kissing his hand and stump, Brienne blinked back the last of her tears. "T-thank you." she murmured into them.

"No. No, no…" Gently, Jaime cupped her face in his good hand, guiding it upward. "Thank _you_ ," he said, looking deeply into her eyes. ""My...my children are dead." Jaime whispered. "My sons… they died kings…my daughter...She died in my arms, Brienne..." Jaime swallowed hard. "I was never a father to them…and they died...Now...it's as if-as if the gods have given me…a second chance. With you." Jaime gently cradled Brienne's face in his hand. "I'm sorry, Brienne. I know you will bear the worst of this. I know you will deal with the shame by the day. But you are strong, stronger than even you know yourself, and I will not desert you or our child now, or ever." He looked her steadily in the eyes-then, his voice became a hiss. "I do not want to return to kings landing, and I will not." Gritting his teeth in determination, he spoke very fast, running a hand through her hair, brushing it soothingly out of her eyes. "I don't care if I never see the gods-forsaken place again. I will find a way to stay by your side. I'll sleep in the wolfswood if I must, for I have sworn to all the gods never to leave you now, and I will not." He breathed out hard. "Brienne...this is... _astonishing_ …"

Brienne almost did not believe her own eyes. Here he was-Jaime Lannister, the man she loved, promising to protect her and stay with her always…and best of all, promising to love her child. _Their_ child. She felt their baby's presence more than ever now his father knew he existed, and that his father had sworn his sword and love to him. Here, in this small chamber at Winterfell, Brienne knew that her life would never be the same, for she would never again be alone. As Jaime looked at her, his eyes fiercely determined yet aching with sadness, Brienne loved him and their child more than she ever thought it could be possible to love anyone. It was as if they were back in that tent, skin against golden skin, and nothing else in the world mattered-

BANG

The noise seemed as loud as cannon fire. Jaime and Brienne sprang apart from one another as the door was suddenly thrown wide open. Suddenly, the next thing anyone knew-four knights of the Vale ran into the chamber and grabbed Jaime, pulling him to his feet. Brienne cried out in shock as Jaime struggled ferociously against his captors. Suddenly, through the door marched Jon Snow, followed by a smiling Petyr Baelish.

"Jaime Lannister!" Jon shouted over the commotion. "I am taking you prisoner on behalf of the Northern cause!"

Brienne looked wildly from Jaime, to Jon, to Littlefinger, her heart beginning to race.

"This is preposterous!" Jaime yelled, still struggling to break free of the knights' iron grasp. "We made an agreement! I was to be allowed to leave peacefully!"

"There is no peace where you are concerned, Kingslayer." Jon spat. "You may return to Kings Landing when your sister agrees to meet with the Northern lords. We demand that she send crown troops equal to double our Northern forces before Winter comes in its full magnitude. She must understand that this is to be the longest night-longer and more dangerous than anything we could have imagined. Once she knows what's coming, she will hand them over with-or without-you. Do you understand, Kingslayer?"

Brienne was shaking with rage and shock. She caught Jaime's eye for a second, and in that moment told him without words that she knew nothing of this plan. Jaime looked right back at her, and gave the slightest jerk of his head, as if to say _don't try to help me now._ He turned furiously to Littlefinger, who stood smiling in the corner. "Baelish! What is the meaning of this? You gave your word-"

"Have you learned nothing, Ser Jaime?" Littlefinger said pityingly, folding his hands neatly in front of him. "You should never have trusted me..."

"Take him to the dungeon, beside his sellsword," Jon ordered, signalling for two of Littlefinger's knights to move off, indicating that the final two should remain. With difficulty, the two chosen knights forced Jaime from the room. As they marched him through the door, Jaime twisted his neck around, and he and Brienne shared one final, long look. It took all of her strength not to grab Oathkeeper and take her chances against the lot of them. But she knew it would be the foolish to do so. She had to let him go-let them take him away from her. She had to lose him once more.

The room felt very, very quiet.

Jon Snow turned to look at her. "Thank you, my lady, for participating in Lord Baelish's plan to get the Kingslayer to come North. It was brave of you, and you are a credit to my cause. However, I wish one of you would have informed me. Please do so in future if you're going to bring a fucking Lannister into my home, even if it is for a good reason."

Rage filled Brienne like nothing she had known before as she looked into Littlefinger's smug, lying, manipulative face. Her fists clenched of their own accord.

"Yes, Lady Brienne has been most useful." Baelish grinned wickedly, bowing low to her. "However, I believe we should leave her to rest now. She must be fit to serve Lady Sansa in a few hours' time."

"Yes, yes, you're right." Jon Snow turned around to leave. "Should I send for Samwell Tarly to write to Cersei straight away? If he hasn't already run out of parchment by now..."

"No." Baelish smiled still, like a satisfied cat. "Let her wonder where her dear brother is...It will give us a few more months to prepare, should she send an offensive force. Your father always said that Winterfell could be defended from any number of enemies with twenty good men. Thanks to the generosity of the northern lords-and myself, of course-we have many more than that. What chance has the crown? We should not write to the queen yet. Let her come to us..." Subtly, so that Jon Snow could not see, he felt something in his pocket, as if to make sure it was still there. Brienne heard a small sound as he did so, like a small piece of parchment crackling. "We will leave her in the dark. No need to write South yet..."

Jon nodded, having noticed nothing. "Very good. Goodnight, my lady. Lord Baelish." With a swish of his long, black cloak, Jon Snow was gone.

Littlefinger turned to Brienne. "Well, that worked out rather well, did it not?"

Brienne opened her mouth-but she was so choked with shock and anger that no words could come out.

Littlefinger chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I really thought _you_ would know better than to be foolish enough to assume your raven would not be intercepted. Every bird that leaves this place goes through me now."

Suddenly, Brienne sprang into action. With a cry, she lunged towards Oathkeeper-but she had forgotten about the remaining knights of the Vale, who threw themselves between her and her sword. They stood, huge men, both an inch or so taller than she was, shoulder to shoulder, hands on the hilts of their swords. Quickly, Brienne sized them up...without a weapon, she would not have a chance against them...

"That would be a very foolish move, my lady. I would advise strongly against it." Littlefinger said softly, an expression of concern on his face. "Anyway, you should not be exerting yourself. It's not good for...you." He looked her up and down, and for a moment, Brienne swore his eyes came to rest on her belly. An icy shiver ran up her spine. "You should not be up this late anyway. I will speak to the guards about changing your watch hours. You must be... _exhausted_."

Brienne felt her blood running cold. "What do you want, Lord Baelish?" she managed to gasp out.

Littlefinger met her gaze, a thousand words behind his eyes...but he said nothing. With a last, long look at her, he turned to his knights. "Come now, we should leave Lady Brienne to rest. She should not be on her feet so long. It would be a tragedy indeed if my lady found herself...unwell..."

Brienne felt the threat, and it melted the ice in her blood and turned it to fire. "You are a liar and a traitor." Brienne hissed at him from behind the knights as they blocked her path to him.

"I never claimed to be otherwise." Littlefinger murmured, a concerned smile still spread across his face. "But I should be careful how you speak to me. That is, if you want your Lannister friend to remain safe in his cell..." Baelish narrowed his eyes as Brienne's heart rate doubled. "Get some _rest_ , like I said. You need it."

With a final smile, Littlefinger disappeared into the darkness. His knights followed, shielding him until finally, the door shut behind them.

Now alone, Brienne was left standing, hands shaking, teeth clenched, clutching Jaime's cloak around her shoulders.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Please continue to do so, much love to all of you lovely people. More tomorrow as usual, see you then! xxx**

 **Cheeky hint: Someone scary is already sailing North...**

" _She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,_

 _But he licked the honey from her hair._

 _Her hair! Her hair!_

 _He licked the honey from her hair!_

 _Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!_

 _My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!_

 _And off they went, from here to there,_

 _The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair_!"

"Bronn…" Jaime murmured, his hand covering his eyes. "Shut up."

"You know, I was just thinking," Bronn leaned against the bars that separated them. "if I had a gold dragon for every time I ended up thrown in some gods-forsaken prison with you…I would probably be richer than you are."

"Trust me, you would not." Jaime rubbed his forehead hard.

"Stuck in here, we're both just as poor as those rats." Bronn said, indicating the corner where they had seen a family of rodents a few hours ago. It had probably been a few hours ago. There was no way to keep track of the time in the Winterfell dungeons. There was little light, and the ground was covered only in hay. Bronn tapped his foot on the floor, humming. He was far more at ease than his companion. "I wish you'd tell me what was so important that the woman had to give to you…it might give my time in here a little purpose."

Slowly, Jaime shook his head. He stared hard at the stump where his hand used to be.

Bronn gave a short, high-pitched whistle. "Suit yourself." He carried on half-singing, half humming to himself. "We've probably got plenty of time in here to have a heart-to-heart. No rush."

Jaime clenched his fist.

* * *

It was the middle of the night before Brienne finally had a chance to slip down to the depths of the castle. She swore she had never found anything harder than walking past Littlefinger multiple times that day and yet saying nothing to him. She would have loved more than anything to poke him full of holes with Oathkeeper, or to at the very least punch him squarely in his slimy, smug face. But she knew she must keep her head down for Jaime's sake-she did not want to give anyone an excuse to harm him any further. And what use would she be if she ended up in those terrible dungeons as well? Her mind kept flashing back to Littlefinger-especially when his cold, staring eyes had lingered too long on her belly…But how would he know? He couldn't…No-she had to quietly go about her business, behaving as if the previous night had not happened.

But now, with Lady Sansa asleep and the castle dark, Brienne slipped on her own cloak, picked up Jaime's and Oathkeeper, and hurried as quietly as she could down the dozens of stairs which lead down to where she knew Jaime was waiting.

A guard stood, leaning on the wall before the archway to the only entrance. He was a man of Winterfell, the Stark sigil on the shield which lay on the ground beside him. Brienne ducked into the shadows, out of sight. She waited...but before long, she heard a snore. Then another. A bottle lay on the ground beside him. The guard was asleep on his feet, as she knew he would be. She just had to be quiet…Brienne crouched to the ground, and slid off her boots. The freezing stone floor hit her stockinged feet like a thousand knives, but she bore it, carefully placing the boots deep in the shadows. Then, she gathered up Jaime's cloak and her sword, before picking her way silently across the floor, wincing as she stepped on sharp stones, but pursing her lips tightly shut. She held her breath as she approached the guard, just managing to slip past without brushing any part of him…before turning the corner and coming face to face with a corridor of barred cells. Still holding her breath, she scoured the place for signs of life.

"Brienne?" A whisper came from the far end. It was magnetic to her. As quickly as she could without making a sound, she found him. There, stood on the hay floor in the dim light, leaning as close to the bars as he could and sporting a new black eye, was Jaime Lannister.

"Jaime…" She rushed to him, until they were finally face to face. There was a moment of silence in which they just stared at one another…He stood behind the bars, trapped, she before them, free. It was almost familiar. There was a strange air between them. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that nothing seemed appropriate. Every fibre of her being wanted to kiss him, to hold him as close as she could. But something stopped her. It was an odd moment as they stared, neither knowing what to say.

Finally Jaime reached his good hand through the bars. Taking it, Brienne held on as tightly as she could. "I'm so sorry!" she whispered. "I should never have summoned you here. I was foolish to think they'd ever let you go."

"No, no…" Jaime sighed. " _I_ was a fool to trust Littlefinger. Well," He stretched. "I've been a prisoner of the Starks before, and I have to say that this dungeon is practically the Red Keep compared to that pen Robb Stark favoured…But what about you?"

"I'm fine, of course," Brienne shook her head bitterly. "Jon Snow thinks I was in on Littlefinger's grand plan to trap you."

"You weren't, were you?"

" _No_!" Brienne almost forgot to whisper.

"I know you weren't, really…" Jaime gave a small smile. "You'd never be able to do it. You're a terrible liar."

Brienne smiled back sadly. "I know…Littlefinger is intercepting all the northern ravens…"

"Ah. That makes sense." Jaime rubbed his new bruise. "I should have known."

"Where did that come from?" Brienne frowned, looking closer at the black and purple ring around his eye.

Jaime gave a dismissive sniff, and jerked his head towards the sleeping guard. "Every man in the North would love to punch me in the face. Who was he to let his chance slip by?"

Brienne sighed angrily. "He is unworthy of the Stark sigil he wears..."

"Never mind that. You're here. That's what matters." Jaime pressed her hand to his lips and kissed it fiercely. Brienne felt all the chilly air leave her lungs to be replaced with warmth, as if it was summer on Tarth and she was stood on the sparking beach, breathing in the sapphire ocean… "Oh Brienne…the most loyal warrior in Westeros…" he whispered, kissing her hand again. "God, I wish these bars would vanish…"

There was a cough in the background. "Don't mind me," came Bronn's voice from the shadows, dripping with sarcasm. "I'll just stare at this wall here. It's a lovely fucking grey stone wall. Fascinating."

Jaime looked at Brienne awkwardly-before they both burst into muffled laughter. It seemed insane to be laughing at a time like this. But they did. It was almost cleansing. Brienne sighed, giving him a sad smile, which he returned, the awfulness of their situation washing over them both all over again. "I brought you some things. You must be freezing down here." Carefully, she passed his scarlet cloak through the bars.

"No, I can't." Jaime stopped it with his hands, stroking the soft material longinly. "Sorry you made the effort. I think our friend over there would notice if his prisoner suddenly acquired a lovely Lannister red cloak out of nowhere." He pushed it gently back to her. "You have it. Wear it. Throw it over your bed. Use it to keep…" He gestured quietly toward her belly, his voice barely a whisper. "…warm."

Brienne looked at him sadly, though her heart was filled with joy as he referred to their baby. "Thank you. It is appreciated, I assure you." She allowed a smile to play around her lips, which he returned. It felt so wonderful to share such a secret, yet so devastating… "But look, you _can_ have this." She reached into her cloak pocket and brought out a hunk of bread, which she tore in half. Passing one half through to Jaime, which he devoured hungrily, she leaned over and threw the other half into Bronn's cell. "There you are, Ser Bronn!" she called quietly.

"Oh, you are a good girl." Bronn's bright white smile shone through the darkness as he too began to scoff down the bread. "Seven blessings on you!" he grinned, his voice muffled from the crust.

"And you." Brienne smiled back at him, before turning back to Jaime. She reached into her pocket again and pulled out his golden hand, which had been left lying on the floor of her chamber. "I didn't know if you wanted this…"

Jaime looked at it, and shook his head. "Wouldn't do me much good in here. Keep it safe for me." He winked at her. "On the bright side-you can hold my hand whenever you like!"

"Oh, don't!" she scoffed, giving him a gentle push through the bars. "I am not some simpering girl."

"Shut up, you love it." he grinned, before becoming solemn again. "I know you're not. I meant what I said, Brienne." He leaned as close to her as he could, his forehead pressing against the bars. "I will never desert you…Well, I suppose although the circumstances are less than favourable, at least now there are bars stopping me!"

"Oh, by all the gods…" Brienne sighed, not finding it in her to laugh. "I'll find a way to get you out of here." she whispered.

"How?" Jaime laughed humourlessly. "If you show any affiliation with me, the Starks will throw you in here as well. If you try and break me out by force, and I'm not saying you couldn't, you will probably be executed. However, if you wait until my sister's forces turn up, I _will_ be let out-either to be dragged back to King's Landing, or to be killed."

Brienne nodded sadly, knowing he spoke the truth. "I will find a way." she whispered.

"Don't you dare put yourself in danger for me!" Jaime hissed, suddenly deadly serious, gripping her hand so tightly it hurt her. "Don't even think about it. You can't-not now. Not ever. But _especially_ not now," He looked desperate. "You mustn't. Brienne? _Promise me_!"

Brienne had to nod, barely moving her head. "I will not endanger myself…or…anyone else…" she said.

Jaime relaxed a little, loosening his grasp.

"But I will try." Brienne whispered, taking his hand in both of hers. "I will try. And I will come to see you as often as I can."

Jaime still looked uneasy…but he managed a smile. "You better had."

"I will." Brienne promised, kissing his hand.

"I'll be fine," Jaime told her, looking her straight in the eyes. "Like I said, I've been worse off as a prisoner of the Starks. And you're so close. All I think about here is you…and…" His voice was barely audible. "And every time I think about…" He gestured again to her belly. "…I know I have the strength left in me to get through this." His voice became stronger, so clear that it was a wonder the guard did not awaken." I will _not_ go back to Kings Landing. I _can't_. I will find some way to keep my oath. I swear to you, Brienne, no matter how I make it out of here, they'll have to kill me before I will become Oathbreaker in your eyes. I don't care what anyone else thinks or calls me, but I will not be Oathbreaker to you. I would rather die."

"Don't say things like that." Brienne begged him, but she kissed his hand again, letting her lips linger for a little longer on his golden skin. It felt so amazing to hold him and kiss him, even through the bars. He was cold, but she warmed him with her own hands as best she could.

Jaime smiled at her, but his eyes were sad. "Go on now, get out of here. Go and get warm."

"I don't want to leave you-"

"I will be _fine_." he promised her, kissing her hands again. And again. "Go on, before it gets any colder."

Brienne knew he was right. "Goodnight," she whispered to him, gathering his cloak in her arms. "I'll come back soon."

"Yes," Jaime kissed her hand a final time. "Keep yourself warm. Goodnight."

With one last, long look, Brienne was gone.

* * *

Jaime sat down heavily in the hay, letting out a long sigh. He could still feel her kisses on his hand, and they warmed him like no flame ever could. Listening to her light, unbooted footsteps moving off, he looked up at the ceiling, thinking about this child… _this child_ …

"Seven hells." drawled the voice from next door. "Who would have thought it? The noble Brienne, _Maid_ of Tarth, was such a fantastic shag that Jaime Lannister had to drag his long-suffering sellsword the whole length of fucking Westeros just to have another go on her."

Jaime snorted loudly. "Don't." He leaned back against the wall, rubbing his blackened eye.

"Knew you were fucking." Bronn grinned smugly.

Jaime laughed softly. "We are not _fucking_ …"

"Son, I'm telling you now," Bronn turned to him, arms folded. "You are fucking." He began to kiss his own hand, putting on a squeaky, high-pitched voice. " _Ohhhhh, goodnight, darling big Brienne, stay warm_ …"

"Shut up right now!" Jaime could feel his cheeks burning a little, but he grinned, throwing a handful of hay towards his companion. "Okay…" he sighed melodramatically. "We… _have_ fucked."

"Ey!" Bronn clapped his hands together. "I knew it! _Finally..._ She was good then?"

Jaime turned away from Bronn, keeping his mouth closed. A smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

"Come on!" Bronn threw a handful of hay back at him. "You'd better tell me. In detail. What better way to pass the time?"

"I am not talking about lying with Brienne with _you_!"

"Ooohhhhhhh, was she that bad? You amaze me…"

"Fuck off." Jaime snorted dismissively. But, he gave up. He turned back to Bronn, folding his handless arm under his good one. "It…it wasn't so much the sex…" he murmured distantly.

" _Oh_ no!" Bronn whistled, holding his hands up and shaking his head. "I want gory details, not feelings!"

"Fine!" Jaime turned his back again, still playing the game. "I won't tell you anything."

"Yeah you will." Bronn grinned. "I've been with all sorts of women-and I _mean_ all sorts-but never one quite like Brienne the Beauty."

"No…me neither…" Jaime mumbled.

"Well, you've only been with one other, and let's not talk about her…" Bronn said darkly, before grinning again. "I gather you took her precious maidenhead, you bad boy?"

Jaime smiled to himself. "It doesn't matter."

"It will to her father-you'd better hope you never meet him. Well, congratulations to you for succeeding where so many men have failed! I hear she used to fight them off tooth and claw before they stopped bothering."

Jaime sighed. "It wasn't about _succeeding_ …"

"Uh oh, here are those fucking _emotions_ again!" Bronn pretended to cover his ears-then laughed. "Oh look, she left your hand!" He pointed to the floor of the dungeon, just outside Jaime's cell.

Jaime frowned and peered over to where Bronn indicated. There it was. He loathed to see it. The gold, the showiness of it…it reminded him so harshly of Cersei and Kings Landing that he felt as if a knife had been driven into his gut.

"Better pick that up. Or he'll have it." Bronn jerked his head to the guard. "You really want that fucker to sell it and have drinks on you?"

Grunting heavily, Jaime reached out of the cell and retrieved the hand. It was cold and useless. He did not even have the heart to re-attach it. He stared at it for a moment-then began to bury it in the hay.

"Well, I'm just glad you've lain with a woman you weren't related to. Much better that way, don't you think?"

Jaime stared up at the ceiling as his golden hand disappeared below the hay. He didn't know what to think.

"Anyway…" Bronn looked back over at him. "Tell me then-what was her arse like?"

But before Jaime could say another word-there were footsteps coming down the stairwell. Heavy, booted steps. Quickly, Jaime and Bronn looked away from one another and fell silent.

Without bothering to wake the guard, Lord Baelish strode purposefully along the corridor. His black robe brushed the floor gently as he walked. He carried no weapon but a satisfied smile. Stopping in front of Jaime's cell, he turned on his heel to face him.

"Well, well…look at Ser Jaime Lannister now…"

Jaime stared him squarely in the face, but did not say a word. He bubbled all over with hatred for the man who stood over him, gloating.

"Her Grace will _not_ be pleased…" Baelish murmured, tutting as if over a badly-behaved child. "But I think she might still let you back into her bed…unless that face of yours is altered any more by my friend over there…" Baelish gestured to the guard. His voice was light, but threatening.

Jaime was silent.

"If you'd like to keep your face in the same arrangement as it is now, you will answer me this." He crouched down on the floor, so they were at eye-level. "Regarding the news Lady Brienne wrote to tell you of, the news you had to ride so _urgently_ here to know…"

Nerves pricked at the back of Jaime's neck.

"In the time I allowed you to have alone in her chamber…" Littlefinger stared straight into Jaime's eyes. "did Lady Brienne inform you, perhaps, that…" He left a pause. "that she is in fact… _with child_ …more specifically…with _your child_?"

Jaime's stomach gave a jolt, then twisted uncomfortably. But he managed to stare Littlefinger down. "Of course not. How ridiculous of you to suggest it." Adopting a casual air, he gave a convincing snort of disbelief. "As if _I_ would ever lie with such a woman…" He shook his head, then looked back at Littlefinger. "If she is pregnant, it has nothing to do with me, and gods help the man who did it to her."

Littlefinger stared at Jaime for a long time, in complete silence.

"Fine." he said, his voice still dangerously soft. But a small smile played around his lips. "I can always tell when a man is lying, Ser Jaime. I know exactly what to look for in his eyes, in his breath, in his very heart…"

"Must be how you got so good at it." Jaime tried to keep his voice level. "I'm afraid your instincts have failed you tonight, though. Considering I am best known for two reasons, one being my sword and the other being my sister…" Jaime shrugged. "How you came to the conclusion that I would _ever_ fuck _Brienne the Beauty_ is beyond me…"

Littlefinger simply smiled. "You have already lost your sword hand. Perhaps the other footnote to your name is also woefully outdated…"

Jaime said nothing now. He simply glared at him.

Getting gracefully to his feet, Littlefinger turned to leave. "Goodnight, Ser Jaime."

Bronn waited until they could no longer hear his footsteps. Then, he turned back to Jaime. Hesitating for a moment, finally, he spoke:

"You _did_ get her pregnant, didn't you? That's why she wrote. That's why you came up here."

Jaime barely heard him. Fear was gushing into his heart. Not for himself, for he was already crippled and maimed. As he had stared into Littlefinger's eyes, he had been unable to fathom what lay there. The only thing he was certain of was that it was both ruthless and so very dangerous…If Littlefinger knew about their child, he was already in danger… _that child_ …Jaime could not decide how he felt. On the one hand, he understood how much danger the child was in just for carrying Lannister blood in his veins. He hated himself for what he had done to Brienne, for everything this would mean for her. Noblewomen did not produce bastards-or, if they did, it was either hidden very well or a source of eternal shame. But Brienne was unlike any other noblewoman. But if anyone knew she was carrying his child, a Lannister child, bastard or not, so many would want him dead. _Including other Lannisters_ …and that meant that Brienne was in unfathomable danger too…And if it was true that Littlefinger was working for the Cersei and the crown, despite his outward allegiance to the North (Jaime was careful to trust nothing now), Jon Snow and Lady Sansa, it could only be a matter of time before Cersei knew.

Jaime could not imagine what Cersei would do. Well. He could…She would probably have the child torn from inside Brienne, his throat cut if he lived and his body thrown over the walls of the Red Keep. Then she would leave his mother to die slowly, ripped and soaked in her blood and the blood of their dead baby…and Cersei would ensure that Jaime was there to see the whole thing through…

The very thought of it made Jaime physically convulse, his throat close, his blood freeze, his heart to solid ice…

No. No. That would never happen. _Never_. The child, _the child_ …Jaime's head fell into his hands.

He thought of the first time he had seen Cersei's golden-headed children: Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen…how beautiful they were, how small and new and so beautiful, and _his_ , his own flesh and blood, how he could not believe that something so pure had come from him…and then the last time. Pale. Broken. Their bodies cold, laid out, those awful stones over their eyes…

His reason to live had died with Tommen and been buried under the rubble of the sept with the Cersei he had known. He had thought about falling on his sword, about downing a whole bottle of essence of nightshade, and most vividly, about following Tommen out of the window…

But when Brienne's raven had arrived…and when she had told him that someone entirely new, someone who was just as much himself as his dead children, someone whom he had created was growing inside her…new breath had entered his lungs, new blood coursed through his veins…

He did not think he would ever have found it in him to love anyone again. His father dead, his mother dead, the Cersei he had loved gone, his brother Tyrion could be anywhere in the known world, dead too for all Jaime knew, and all of his children…there was no one left. But now there was. Now there was a child, a golden-headed child, a child who had forced the first stitches in his heart to sew it back together simply by existing, who had given him new life, as he had given life to him…

"Jaime?" Bronn's voice cut into his thoughts. "You got her pregnant, didn't you?"

Slowly, Jaime nodded once.

"Well…" Bronn made a low whistling sound. "Seven fucking hells."

"Yes…" Jaime whispered. "Seven fucking hells…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, favourite-ing, following and reviewing! Please continue to do so-I love to heart your thoughts! I am honestly completely bowled over by the support for this story and I appriciate each and every one of you for sticking with me :) I do not foresee any disruption to getting this story finished by posting one chapter per day until it is done, so stick with me-I'm practically home alone all the time at the moment so I have plenty of time to write! Tomorrow's chapter is currently being edited... ;) Much love and hugs xxx**

 **Cheeky hint: To paraphrase the Starks...a fight is coming...and possibly some blood...**

The snow fell thicker by the day as the weeks passed by. Every Northern soldier had been instructed by their lords to dig deep channels so that supplies may come into the castle despite the weather. All around Winterfell, the air was thick with powdery snow as the soldiers dug it up and threw it away. The wind blew the powder high into the air, so it seemed as if the entire castle was locked in its own private snowstorm.

Visibility was low and, most difficult of all, it was getting harder to stay warm. Even Lady Sansa shivered in her furs as the fires were constantly stocked, and men had been sent into the wolfswood to gather extra logs to dry out and burn. She had kept her fingers busy sewing blankets for her hounds, who howled in the cold more than ever. Only Jon Snow, Samwell Tarly and Gilly seemed unaffected, going about their business in their regular clothes-it was their experience of life beyond the Wall that had hardened them.

Brienne had briefly lived at Castle Black, and spent plenty of time in the Riverlands, but her blood was southern. She found herself longing for the summer days on Tarth, where the sun was sometimes so hot it cooked sand and tiles alike, so every surface was almost too hot to touch. Now, she endured the opposite-the cold burned her like the sun never had. Each morning, she readily sprang from her bed to begin her duties, but it was always with a heavy heart as she thought about the cosy furs she had slept in while shivering through getting dressed. She was too afraid to wear Jaime's cloak outside of her chamber for fear that someone would recognise it, but she never took it off when she was alone. It was so beautifully warm, so well-made…and traces of his smell clung gently to the lining...

There was one upside to the cloaks and extra layers. It meant that no one could see the beginnings of the small, but certain, swelling of her belly. For her pregnancy was beginning to show. And it terrified her.

Jaime had been the first to point it out.

* * *

"…I could have taken that bear down easily if I had been armed."

"You could not!" Brienne had protested, kneeling before Jaime on the other side of the bars. Jaime sat cross-legged, a teasing half-smile on his lips. "There is no way."

"I could have. Didn't you see? It cowered the moment I jumped into the pit."

Brienne rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help smiling back. "If you'd like to think that, I'm not going to stop you."

"Of course it did. Even the Northern bears have heard stories of my brilliance," Jaime grinned, winking. "But I saved you anyway. With my bare hands…against his _bear_ hands…"

Brienne gave a groan-then burst out laughing, slapping a hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. "That is _terrible_! Make any more jokes like that and I swear to every god there is, I will grab Oathkeeper, break down those bars and I will fight you. And we both know who would win."

"Now, I'd love to see you rip down these bars." Jaime had grinned. "But you are wrong. Even if I had my sword and was willing to fight you, which I am not, I would _definitely_ win."

"Oh yes?" Brienne had smiled at him indulgently. "Do you _really_ think you could beat me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Jaime answered confidently.

"There is not a chance of that!" Brienne giggled, shaking her head in disbelief. "I'd have your sword out of your hand in the first half minute. You just don't like to admit that a _woman_ could beat you easily…"

"Right." Jaime grinned. "Let's weigh up the facts…One…I'm quicker than you."

Brienne rolled her eyes. "You are not."

"Two…I'm stronger than you."

Brienne gave a sceptical snort.

"Three…my instincts are better than yours."

"Now, that's just absolute nonsense!" Brienne protested.

"Well, to your credit," Jaime laughed, reaching through the bars. "All of those things I just listed are kind of messed up for you by this…" He had reached until his fingers found the small, almost concealed, swelling beneath her tunic. Gently, he had touched it, a smile spreading over his face. "Especially now he's growing so fast…you know, you can really sort of tell now…?"

Suddenly, Brienne had jerked herself away, frustration bubbling rapidly inside her. She had wrapped her cloak tightly around herself and stood up.

"What did I say?" Jaime had asked in surprise, sounding genuinely shocked. His eyes had widened to twice their regular size.

"Are you saying…?" She had swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice calm. "Are you saying…you can _see_ it?"

Jaime coughed impatiently. "Oh, come on, Brienne, you _must_ have noticed." He shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

" _I_ don't know what other people can see!" Brienne moaned. She had wrapped her arms tightly over her belly, her face flooded with deepest apprehension. "As soon as anyone knows he exists, he is in danger! If anyone worked out he was yours…"

Jaime had given her a funny look…before sighing. "Look…I probably can only see it because I'm looking for it…" He propped himself up on his elbow, leaning on his stump. "Believe it or not, I _love_ being able to see it. I really do. You look…" He had looked away from her-then back, his eyes very soft. "you really look _so_ -"

"I don't care!" Brienne hissed. "What about when everyone knows? What about _y_ o _ur sister_?"

Jaime was quiet for a moment. "…Look, can't you let yourself enjoy this for a moment?" He reached for her hand, pulling her gently back onto the floor. "Relax. You'll feel better."

"I don't know how _you_ can be so relaxed…" Brienne muttered darkly. But she had let Jaime take her hand and kiss it. Sometimes, she felt loving him was a curse...

* * *

That was a week ago. Since then, Brienne had been more paranoid than ever. She was forever shifting her position so no one could get a good look at her, covering herself up as much as possible, wearing her clothes loose to hide her changing body. No matter how much Jaime liked to act like everything was fine, she worried night and day about the time in the near future when she would no longer be able to conceal her secret…One the one hand, she was beyond amazed and delighted that she was beginning to be able to see and feel physical evidence that Jaime's child was real, alive and growing healthily inside her…it was so wondrous it seemed almost impossible…but even thinking about what could happen to her child once he was no longer a secret…Brienne could not bear it.

But Jaime was right. She was almost nineteen weeks into her pregnancy, and it was showing. And there was little she could do about that.

Brienne stood by, in full armour and cloak, as Lady Sansa curled her feet under her legs, her chair as close to the fire as was safe for it to be. She was sewing another dog blanket, a strange patchwork of the clothes the Boltons had left behind. The late Lady Bolton, who had been Walda Frey, had left plenty of dresses behind, so Sansa used a wide array of greens, blues, reds and blacks to clothe animals who were colour blind. Her fingers moved so deftly with the needle and thread that she resembled some kind of machine. Brienne thought fleetingly of her early sewing classes on Tarth with her maid, a woman of around fifty who had cared for her since she was weaned, and especially since her mother had died. She had learned quickly, but the carer had lamented her lack of grace and eye for detail, neither of which she was blessed with. Lady Sansa must have been a dream to teach, for every stitch was perfect. Brienne had found it much easier and much more fun to swing her wooden toy sword against her bedpost again and again until she wore dents in it, much to her father's rage, than to sit patiently for hours with a needle and thread. A small smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

Brienne's thoughts turned to the mother she'd never known. Memories of her face were so foggy that she could not recall anything but the head of yellow hair, the same shade hers was, only much, much longer. No other details at all. Those back home on Tarth told her that her mother had been a great beauty, but she somehow doubted that. It was just something people said about dead people. They also told her that her mother had been fiercely loyal, loved ferociously, and was impossible to win an argument or a game of chess against. This, Brienne was more inclined to believe. She thought of that hazy head of yellow hair, and wished to all the gods that she could be here now, to guide her, to tell her how to be not a warrior, but a _mother_ …a concept far more terrifying. But perhaps the two weren't altogether too different. Catelyn Stark had certainly been both…

Lady Sansa Stark's head moved up and down slowly as she stitched. "Jon says it seems very wrong to keep the hounds warm with the clothes of a woman they killed. But I think he's being ridiculous. Lady Bolton doesn't know what I'm using them for. She's dead."

The way Lady Sansa spoke sometimes startled Brienne. As she looked into her pale, freckled face, so young, she knew the lady had seen far, far too much horror already. "Yes, my lady."

"I used to wonder what would happen to my things once I was dead." Lady Sansa was so absorbed in her work, she did not even look up. "Now, I don't care. Nothing matters once you're dead. Especially _things_."

"Quite so, my lady."

"I used to think they mattered so much. Things. But they're just _things_ -"

Suddenly-Brienne turned her head sharply away from Lady Sansa. She started, almost physically jumping out of her skin. She only just managed to keep herself from gasping aloud. The tiniest movement, the smallest flick of pressure, the burst of a bubble…she had been feeling movements like this for the past few days, but this time, it was so definite…so light but so unmistakeable that she knew exactly what it was and who had made it, whose tiny movements she could feel inside her, reminding her that he was alive and existent and safe and…

Quickly, Brienne whipped back around, so that Lady Sansa did not notice that anything had happened. She felt as if all the breath had been sapped from her lungs. Her head was light, her hands unsteady, but she managed to stand straight, keeping her face blank. However, she could not control her mind…she thought of that night, when she would sneak downstairs to tell Jaime. It was so terrifying to think that their child was now able enough to make his presence known…but she could not stop her heart glowing…

Lady Sansa paused, her needle hand hovering in mid-air. "I looked for Mother and Father's things when I returned here. But everything was gone…" She sniffed a little. "I suppose the Boltons burned everything…" She stabbed the fabric with far more force than was necessary. "It makes me sick to think that Ramsay slept in Father's bed after he killed his father, Lord Roose Bolton…who killed my brother." She stabbed again.

Brienne did not know what to say. She yanked her thoughts as much as she could from the child inside her to the young woman who sat before her, her eyes so haunted for such a young girl. "My lady." she murmured, keeping her voice low and sympathetic.

Sansa looked up at her. She looked as if she might want to cry, but her eyes were completely dry. It was incredibly unsettling. "I still have dreams about him. Nightmares."

Brienne felt a sharp pain in her heart for her lady. "Of course, my lady. He did…unimaginable things."

"I don't have to imagine them…" Sansa murmured. She swallowed hard.

Brienne paused. Her heart was so heavy it felt like a rock inside her chest. "He did the very worst thing to you…" she whispered. "It is…." She could not finish.

Lady Sansa was looking at her oddly. "Surely no man has ever violated _you_ like that?" She looked Brienne up and down, her face shocked.

"No, no, thank the gods…" Brienne murmured. Then-she paused. "Some Bolton soldiers came close once…on the kingsroad…headed to Harrenhall…"

"And you fought them off?" Sansa sat up straight.

"No, my lady." Brienne answered.

"Then how-?"

"Jaime Lannister saved me."

Lady Sansa's eyes widened in shock. "The _Kingslayer_?"

"It happened when I was travelling him to Kings Landing, under your mother's orders to exchange him for you and your sister, Arya…" Brienne cast her eyes downward at the memory of her failed mission. "But we were captured by Bolton soldiers, under Locke. When they made camp at night, they…they tried. I was bound with ropes…unarmed…there was nothing I could have done…but Jaime…he could have just sat there. Let it happen…it would never have meant anything to him…but he didn't. He saved me."

Lady Sansa stared up at her. "The _kingslayer_ saved you?" she repeated.

"I'm sure his reputation would make that seem unlikely…" Brienne paused. "But...he is a _good_ man."

Lady Sansa looked unsure.

Brienne bit her lip, thinking of him, sat in his cell far below their feet…

"He _is_ a good man, my lady. A good man, who…who has had to make some terrible choices. He is honourable, he is brave-he jumped into a pit with a bear, unarmed and one-handed, to save my life." She smiled a little at the memory, feeling the scars on her neck. "He is not only a good man, my lady. He is far from perfect, but…but he is one of the _greatest_ men I have ever known…"

Brienne found her breathing had become ragged. Lady Sansa looked up at her, a surprised expression on her face…but scepticism soon crept in. She narrowed her eyes.

"If he is so brave and honourable, and saved you so many times…why did you help Lord Baelish to trap him?"

Brienne pursed her lips together. Lady Sansa was as sharp as her mother. She felt her heart sinking, her stomach dropping. If she told the truth, and Littlefinger found out that she had given him away, Jaime might be dead within the hour...The very thought of it made the already cold room drop ten more degrees. And if she told Lady Sansa that she had summoned him to Winterfell of her own accord, she would probably end up in a cell herself. And then the truth would have to come out either way. It was impossible. The thought of Littlefinger's scheming face and beady eyes made her feel physically sick…

But she could not lie to her lady. She was Lady Sansa's sworn sword. She could not lie.

"My lady…" Brienne kept her voice low. It was as if her throat was blocked up, barricading itself against her words.

Sansa frowned. "What?"

"I…" Brienne's mouth was dry. "I was not involved in Littlefinger's plan. I…I was set up as much as Ser Jaime was. Littlefinger…is intercepting all northern ravens."

Lady Sansa's eyes widened in shock…but her face remained calm. She put down her sewing. "I knew you would not plot with Lord Baelish like that…it's not who you are."

Brienne felt a cold sweat on her back.

"He's plotting something." Lady Sansa whispered, keeping her voice low. "I know he is. Do you know what he wants?"

Brienne shook her head. "No, my lady." she managed to say.

Lady Sansa's mouth became a line of resolution. " _I_ know what he wants. He told me at the Godswood months ago….The…The Iron Throne. And me beside him."

Automatically, Brienne's hand gripped the hilt of Oathkeeper. "I will not let him near you, my lady." she hissed.

"He tried to kiss me…but I wouldn't let him." Lady Sansa murmured.

"Good. I swear to you, my lady, I will not let him touch you." Brienne had not let go of Oathkeeper. If she had not hated Littlefinger before, she did now, tenfold.

"Thank you." Lady Sansa looked straight into Brienne's eyes. "But…" Her eyes wondered as she frowned again. "Why would Baelish want _Jaime Lannister_ imprisoned here? He knows Cersei wants me dead-she still thinks _I_ murdered Joffrey…why would he drag her here to rescue her brother and put _me_ in danger if he plans to _marry_ me?"

Brienne shook her head, confused. She had not considered that before. "I don't know, my lady..."

But before she could say anything else-Lady Sansa had got to her feet. "I am going to find Lord Baelish now." Before Brienne could say a word, she strode quickly from the room.

* * *

Compelled by duty to follow, Brienne hurried after her, an enormous sense of dread mounting inside her like so many dead bodies on the battlefield. Sansa moved quickly, marching as fast as a soldier, her cloak and furs whipping corners as she turned them. Thoughts were flashing through Brienne's mind like a deck of cards being shuffled-they moved so fast and were so fearful that she felt physically sick. She was sure she could not keep walking. But somehow, as if in a nightmare, she followed Lady Sansa out into the snow of the courtyard, towards Littlefinger's chambers.

The cold air hit her like thousands of arrows, snow pelting her, the white confusion making her more and more disorientated. It was as if she was spinning around and around, faster and faster, unable to stop-

"Halt!" Suddenly, a voice from above. The guards who stood atop the gate were aiming their crossbows downwards. "Who goes there?"

Someone was coming.

The man who was speaking yelled at the top of his voice at whoever now approached the gates of Winterfell…

There was a pause. Brienne could distantly hear the sound of horses' hooves approaching, whinnying…whoever was out there...they were not alone.

Lady Sansa heard it too. She turned to face the gates, looking up.

"What's going on?" Jon Snow had suddenly appeared from inside, fastening his cloak around his shoulders with one hand and propelling himself forward faster with the other, Ser Davos Seaworth at his side. Jon ran through the snow up to the gate, drawing Ice automatically and looking up at the men who guarded it.

"What colour are their banners? _What colour_?" he shouted. Ser Davos positioned himself beside him, looking right at Jon, waiting for orders.

"R…red my lord!" came the voice of the guard. " _Red and gold_!"

Brienne felt the ground disappear from beneath her.

Lady Sansa gasped out in shock. "Cersei…" she whispered. She looked at Brienne, her eyes so wide Brienne could see flecks of snow caught on her lashes. Instantly-Brienne drew Oathkeeper and stood in front of her lady, her face set. Her heart was solid ice, her blood all frozen, but somehow the fire that had burned inside her all this time licked against it. She was scared. She was terrified. She feared for her Lady Sansa, for _Jaime_ …but it was entirely a new sensation to fear for her own life before an oncoming battle. Of course, however, it was not just her life anymore. It was not just her body that would be broken anymore, nor her breath that would catch in her throat and then stop forever, nor her blood that would be spilled on this pure white snow...

" _Wait_!" called the guard from above. "No! There are no lions!"

Jon started, looking up straight at the guard. "What do you mean, no lions? Is she still using stags? What can you see?" Jon yelled. "Tell me exactly what you see!"

The guard was quiet for a moment. "It's…it's all this snow...I can't see… _wait_!" he called. " _Blue_! I can see blue!"

" _Blue_?" Jon frowned. Some of the fear seeped out of his face and was replaced with confusion. "What house has a _red and blue_ sigil?"

Whoever it was…they were now right outside the gates. Brienne could hear the scraping of horses' hooves, the stamping, the snorts from their nostrils, and the low buzz of men…and one man's voice over all the others.

"Who goes there?" the guard repeated. "State your name and purpose!"

"I am Lord Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall! Please inform Lord Baelish that I received his raven! But first- _I demand to see my daughter_!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, favourite-ing, following and reviewing! I really do take all of your comments on board and appreciate them all! Thank you :) I really hope you enjoy this chapter. More tomorrow! Much love xxx**

Time was passing far too quickly. Thought it must have been a quarter of an hour, it felt like it took mere seconds for Jon Snow, Lady Sansa, Ser Davos Seaworth and Brienne to assemble in the great hall at Winterfell. Jon Snow and Sansa sat at the top table, while Ser Davos and Brienne stood either side of it. In the corner, Samwell Tarly, having been hurriedly summoned from his work, stood looking nervously around. Beside him, Gilly held a sleeping little Sam in her arms.

Brienne felt as though her legs were made of water. It took every ounce of strength she had to stand still, staring at the door, waiting...

" _Sam_!" Jon hissed suddenly. "What are you doing? You're the _maester_! You sit here!" He indicated the seat beside him.

"Oh! Oh right!" Sam scurried up to the table, making a great scraping noise with the chair as he sat down.

Jon looked stressed. "What does he want?" He looked at Sam. " _Lord Selwyn_...I''ve barely heard of him. Where the fuck even _is_ Tarth?"

Sam looked excited to be needed. "It's off the coast of the Stormlands. Outside of Shipbreaker Bay. Known as the Sapphire Isle for its blue waters. Isn't that right, my lady?" He looked up at Brienne, as if expecting a pat on the head and a treat. So did Lady Sansa. Only her face was less earnest and more…suspicious.

"If Lord Selwyn is from the Stormlands, what the hell could have brought him all the way up here?" Jon wondered aloud. "Has anyone ever met him?"

"No." Ser Davos murmured, scratching his head. "Sailed by Tarth many times. In my smuggling days. But never set foot there, no."

"Why don't you ask Brienne?" Sansa sounded irritated by Jon's lack of awareness. "She is his _daughter_ , after all."

Jon twisted around to look at her. "Any idea? I don't know nothing... _anything_. About your father, I mean," he said quickly

But before she could even begin to think about what to say-the doors were flung open. Into the hall, four men marched in pairs, the front-most two holding Tarth sigils-light red and blue, with golden suns and white crescent moons. Each man was armed, and dressed in full armour, though Brienne knew it would be the lighter-weight armour of the south, and each man must be absolutely freezing. None of them showed it, however. Especially not the man who marched at the head of them all.

Lord Selwyn Tarth was a huge, strapping man of five-and-fifty years, short dark grey hair and short dark grey beard weaved with flecks of snow. His skin was darkened by the bright sun of the isle, as Brienne's once had been, and he was taller than even she was-a giant of a man. He was not as muscled as he had been in his youth, though the evidence of a very strong man was still present all over his large frame. He had striking blue eyes, exactly like his daughter-but one thing they did not share at that moment was an expression of absolute fury.

"Lord Selwyn." Jon Snow stood to receive him, trying to act like he did this every day, a nervous smile on his face. "Er-Welcome to Winterfell. I am Jon Snow, and this is-"

"I know who you are," The voice was deep, with the habitual bluntness Brienne had also inherited. Lord Selwyn's eyes had already swivelled away from the table to settle on Brienne. She felt as though they were shooting arrows of blue fire straight through her.

Lord Selwyn had never been one for formalities. He was already ignoring every other person in the hall and addressing only his daughter. "What is the meaning of this?" he thundered, grabbing a small piece of parchment from the pocket of his cloak. Brienne could see Littlefinger's handwriting etched across it.

"I receive a raven from _Petyr_ bloody _Baelish_ , a man I loathe, with information regarding the state of my daughter!" Lord Selwyn looked outraged. "Now I _owe_ him! I am indebted to a man I despise!"

Brienne was silent.

"And why? _Why_?" he roared, his eyes still focused only on Brienne. He seemed to have forgotten they were not alone. "Now, you had better tell me, my girl, that I have gone senile in my old age and have misunderstood or misread this information!"

Brienne felt every eye in the room burning into her.

"For if I am not …" Lord Selwyn thundered, looked searchingly at his daughter for a moment…before his jaw locked into place. Brienne could see a vein pulsating in his temple. "If I did not misunderstand, and I pray to all the gods that I did, then that raven was sent to tell me that my daughter-my only living child-is carrying some man's bastard!"

The silence that followed his words was deafening, louder than any battlefield cries, louder and thicker than anything Brienne had ever known.

"So it's true!" A shadow of horror crossed Lord Selwyn's face-before his eyes became blue flames. He took several steps closer to Brienne, who felt as if her feet had been welded to the spot. She could neither speak, nor move. She could only stare at her father. "Did I not do enough for you? Did I not bend over backwards for you, allow you to waltz around in mail, go wherever you damn well pleased in the world, even let you dismiss every single bloody lord I proposed your hand to?" He spat his words, his face growing redder by the second. "And this is how you repay me? Your honour besmirched, your virtue devastated, the future of House Tarth- _our_ future-in _ruins_! You, my girl, have brought immeasurable shame on our house!"

Brienne was speechless. She could do nothing but stare at her father.

"And _you_!" Lord Selywn suddenly turned from his daughter and marched over to Jon Snow. Had it been anyone else, it would have been Brienne's duty to draw her sword to ensure Jon's safety. But she could not. Not against her father. Jon himself looked as if he was considering jumping out of the window. Hoards of the dead were one thing-angry fathers quite another. "She was under _your_ command, was she not? How could you let this happen?"

"She wasn't-I didn't-Believe me, my lord, I found out about this ten seconds ago!" Lord Selwyn's icy glare was enough to intimidate anyone, even Jon Snow. Jon looked at Brienne, his face a picture of shock and confusion. "Brienne? What's going on?"

Making a noise like a bull, Lord Selwyn turned back to his daughter. He sighed heavily, but said nothing.

Brienne felt white hot shame coursing through her veins.

"Please, my lord." Lady Sansa finally spoke. Her face was as shocked as Jon's, only there was sadness mixed into it. She sounded strange. "Your daughter is-is sworn only to _me_. She is under no one's command but her own-"

"Yes, that's exactly the problem!" Lord Selwyn rolled his eyes, running his hands through his hair, which grew wild. "The same story, since she was a child!" He looked back to his daughter-it was a terrible look. He stared at her as if he no longer knew who he was. "I wonder if you can tell me who sired this bastard?"

Finally, Brienne found her voice. "Father, I am no whore!"

Lord Selwyn gave a humourless laugh. "Well, get used to the word, my girl. It's what the entire kingdom will call you once this gets out!"

Brienne felt sick.

"Who is it, then? Give me his name!"

A long silence.

She could not lie. She could not lie to her father.

She opened her mouth and uttered the name…but her voice was barely a whisper.

"Who?" Lord Selwyn thundered. " _Who_?"

"J-"

"Ser Jaime Lannister!"

Suddenly, the doors to the hall were flung open once again. Still dressed all in black, so he resembled a shadow, Littlefinger entered, his hands neatly folded in front of him. He did not smile. There was an expression of concern carefully plastered on his face. He looked up at the shocked faces and looked grave, as at least fourteen knights of the Vale entered behind him, in seven pairs, all fully armed.

Lord Selwyn stared…then laughed out loud. "Nonsense! That back-stabbing, jumped-up Lannister cripple is in Kings Landing shagging his sister! Everyone in the seven kingdoms knows this!"

Littlefinger shook his head sadly, his eyes glittering. "I'm afraid it's true, my lord. Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Moving aside with his knights, Littlefinger gestured to the doorway with one sweeping arm. Behind him-six more knights of the Vale. And between them, bound with ropes, his hands locked in chains, his hair grown longer a little longer, his beard untrimmed, and looking distinctly dirtier than the poor light in the dungeons gave away, was Jaime himself.

Silence. Jaime looked all around the room, ignoring even Lord Selwyn-until his eyes found Brienne's. Their gaze locked.

But the next thing they knew-before anyone could say another word-Lord Selwyn had strode quickly over to the doorway, quicker than Brienne had ever seen him move in her life-and punched Jaime squarely in the face.

Jaime reeled backward from the force, holding his hand up as the old man raised his fist once again. The knights of the Vale did nothing to stop him.

"How _dare_ you!" roared Lord Selwyn, rage like nothing Brienne had seen burning so fiercely from his face that it emitted a sort of heat. "How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you defile my daughter! How _dare_ you lay your filthy hands on her! I don't care what your house name is, or how much money you're worth, my girl is worth twelve of you, Kingslayer!" Lord Selwyn was so close to his face Jaime must have been getting sprayed with spit. "Do you know what you have done to my daughter? You have ruined her life! You have ruined her career, you have taken her freedom from her!" He hit Jaime again, another crack of fist on bone echoing through the hall.

Brienne blinked rapidly in surprise. It was amazing how quickly she had gone from disgraced daughter to golden girl in her father's eyes. It was that Tarth loyalty she had also inherited...But the punches seemed to have brought her to her senses. "Father, _stop_!" She rushed down from her place beside Lady Sansa, and pulled her father away from Jaime before he could hit him again, locking his hands behind his back. "That's _enough_!"

Lord Selwyn struggled in her grip. But she was stronger than he was now, far stronger, and held fast as she yanked him away from Jaime. Finally, she dared to look up into her father's face, expecting to see terrible fury that she had dared to stop him…but suddenly…he was looking down right back at her. She could see some of the icy blue flames in his eyes growing weaker and weaker, as if they were being slowly extinguished by the calm, blue waters of her own eyes. Slowly, the contortion of rage on his face smoothed out, leaving only the lined, tired face of her father. There were purple bags beneath his eyes-he looked as if he had not slept for days. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time all over again. He looked down, his eyes resting on her belly...and his face fell.

"Why, little bird?" His voice was quiet now, as he looked down at her with eyes so saddened they almost broke her heart. "Why have you done this?"

Brienne forced herself to look at her father, even though it nearly destroyed her. "I never meant to hurt you." she whispered, looking straight into his eyes.

Gently, Lord Selwyn released himself from her grip. He laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Then, he gently touched her short, yellow hair, brushing it softly behind her ear. This action almost reduced Brienne to tears-it was what he had done when she was a child and could not sleep. Lord Selwyn looked on the verge of them himself. But none came, of course. He kept a hand gently buried in her hair. "I know. I know you never would. I…I just can't understand it…I was sure I'd come here, and Littlefinger would be proved wrong, and you'd be fine, like you always are. But…" He looked down at her sadly.

"I _am_ fine." Brienne protested. "I'm _fine_."

"You are not. Why, little bird? Why, of every man in the seven kingdoms…this…this…?" Lord Selwyn shook his head, glancing at Jaime, before taking Brienne's hands in his own. He looked at her searchingly, before his voice became almost angry again angry and comfused. "He is _everything_ you despise! Everything _we_ despise! A traitor, a man without loyalty, a man without honour, _oathbreaker_ -"

" _No_ , father." Brienne held her father's hands tightly, so rough and wrinkled and familiar… "He is not that man. He may have been, once. But he is not that man now." She looked from Lord Selwyn to Jaime, who was watching her anxiously. "Believe me, father. I would never lie to you."

Lord Selwyn looked torn. He looked from Brienne to the man in chains, then back to his daughter. Then, with a dismissive grunt, he bent his head slightly and kissed her forehead. As he did, Brienne barely kept herself from crying. "I've missed you so much, my love." His own voice sounded thick. "So much." Carefully, he gathered her in his arms and held her close. Brienne could do nothing but lean into him. "I'm sorry." he murmured into her hair. "I should have protected you better."

"No." She shook her head, blinking hard. "No, you've nothing to be sorry for. It is not up to you to protect me. I am-"

"-my child..." Lord Selwyn stroked her hair, breathing out hard. He glanced down at her belly again, the soft swelling almost undetectable beneath her armour...and looked up with his eyes set. "I'm going to make this right." he said solemnly, holding onto her tightly. "Come _home_ , little bird. Let me take you home to Tarth." he begged.

Looking into her father's eyes, and thinking of home, it almost killed her to do it…but she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Father. I can't."

"Oh, Brienne…" Lord Selwyn sighed. He cupped her face in his hands. "Come home. Please. You…and your child…will be safer on Tarth. I will make sure of it, I swear. No one need know he is half a Lannister. I will keep him from harm. I will keep _you_ from harm. Please, little bird, return to Evenfall."

Slowly, with a heavy heart and tears in her eyes, Brienne shook her head. "Father…I am bound by honour to stay here. I swore a sacred oath to Lady Sansa. I cannot desert her. Only she or death can release me from my vow-"

Lady Sansa had let out a cry of shock. "No!" She got to her feet, tears in her own eyes. " _No_! Don't put your baby in danger for my sake!"

Brienne turned to her, guilt washing over her like a tidal wave. She could hardly look her in the eye. "I am sorry, my lady. I have not been honest with you."

"Never mind that!" Lady Sansa had left the table and was coming down the hall towards her. Instantly, Jon Snow leapt up and followed her, clutching Ice at the hilt.

"I am sworn to you." Brienne said calmly. "I swore to your mother to protect you. Then-"

"Don't you think my mother would _understand_?" Sansa cried. "Don't you think she'd have ignored any oath in the world to keep her children safe?" She looked embarrassed, her hands covering her cheeks in despair. "I'm sorry I never knew. I feel terrible!"

"No, my lady!" Brienne hated to see her lady in distress over her. "It's not your-"

"I can't _believe_ I never knew." Sansa was ashamed as she looked Brienne up and down. Her eyes widened as they lingered on her belly, and she made a sound like an injured dog. "How did I not _notice_? I must be so _selfish_ , so wrapped up in myself-"

"No!" Brienne protested. "No, of course not, my lady-"

"Be fair to yourself, Sansa. It wasn't exactly obvious." Jon Snow put an arm around his sister comfortingly. He was still looking in disbelief at Brienne. "I mean…it's _you_ , Brienne…you're… _well_ …you're practically a man-I mean" He coughed awkwardly. "I mean…you're practically a _knight_."

"A better knight than half of those with that title." Ser Davos added from behind. "Probably myself included. Don't be angry with yourself, my lady."

Although their declarations sent a quick rush of pride through her, Brienne did not have time to think too long on it, as her father had grabbed her hands again.

"Please come home with me, my love." he begged. "I know this is a terrible situation, but-"

"Yes," came a smooth, lyrical voice. "What a terrible situation this is."

Suddenly, Littlefinger spoke up. He moved into the centre of the room, four knights of the Vale surrounding him in a quad. But he could still be clearly seen by everyone in the room. Still, that concerned and noble expression was painted carefully on his face. Brienne released herself from her father and stared at him in disbelief.

"Lord Selwyn," he began. "I'm sure you must feel…indescribably angry. Here is your daughter, the warrior Brienne of Tarth, _pregnant_ and unmarried, by what must be one of the most hated men in the seven kingdoms…" He looked straight at Lord Selwyn, his face very troubled. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you the kind of danger the child is in…especially from Her Grace, Queen Cersei…and consequently, how much danger your daughter is in."

Lord Selwyn said nothing. But his expression was one of extreme mistrust as he regarded Littlefinger.

Unfazed, Littlefinger continued.

"However...I can help you." Littlefinger continued, taking a step towards Lord Selwyn. "I can keep the child safe from all harm. I can save your daughter's freedom and honour. I can repair all damage to the name of House Tarth...and _so_ much more besides…"

Lord Selwyn frowned. He gave a small snort. "How in the names of the gods do you propose to restore her _honour_?"

Brienne felt cold fingers close around her heart.

"Well, I should think it is the least the Kingslayer could do to atone for his actions." Littlefinger turned to face Jaime, who was still held captive by the knights of the Vale. Jaime looked at him, an expression of pure hatred on his face.

"What?" Lord Selwyn frowned.

"Marry her." said Littlefinger simply.

There was a short silence.

" _No_!" Brienne was more enraged than ever as she glared at Littlefinger. "I will not do it! Never!" She turned to Lord Selwyn. "Father, I will not do it!"

Jaime had looked shocked at Littlefinger's words-but now, he looked truly appalled. "Oh, thanks a lot!" he drawled sarcastically, his face a pantomime. "That _really_ makes me feel good."

" _Shut up_ , Jaime." Brienne turned back to face Littlefinger. "You claim you can restore my freedom, and then you instruct me to sign it away forever?"

"It is not about the marriage." Littlefinger continued calmly. "It is simply to legitimise the child."

Brienne was more confused than ever. "Why is that important?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with bastards?" Jon muttered, almost to himself. He did not look keen to get involved, but he kept his hand on the hilt of Ice.

Littlefinger was not looking at Brienne. He was looking straight at her father, Lord Selwyn. "Legitimise the child through marriage. Restore your daughter's honour. Then, when the child is born… _give him to me_." Littlefinger took a few steps towards Selwyn, his expression still one of concern…but now, it was also one of resolution. "Give the child to me, Lord Selwyn. I will foster him, as Jon Arryn fostered Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark. I will raise him in the Eyrie, behind the Bloody Gates, far away from the crown and Cersei. Far away from anyone, where it is safe. It is best for your grandchild, and best for your daughter."

Brienne felt fire burning through her entire body. Her arms automatically wrapped themselves protectively around her gently swollen belly, the child inside her whose movements she felt, who was Jaime's, whom she loved so uncontrollably... She stared at Littlefinger, almost too outraged to speak, so angry she did not feel completely _sane_ , wondering what she had done, what terrible sin she must have committed to deserve enduring this...this... _evil_ man...Littlefinger seemed barely human in her eyes. To suggest-to even _think_ about-giving her child away to anyone, let alone to _him_...but before she could say a word-

" _Over my dead body_!" Jaime suddenly yelled out. "Over my dead body will _you_ , or anyone else, take my child!"

There was a short silence, as Brienne realised how she loved Jaime more fiercely than ever-and hated Littlefinger twice as much as she had ever thought possible...

Littlefinger ignored them. He turned to Selwyn, a business-like grave smile on his face. "I know it will be hard at first, Lord Selwyn. All mothers mourn their babes who are sent away. But it is best for you family. Give the child into my keeping, and I will raise him, as if he was my own. It is necessary. Especially because-"

" _No_ …" Lord Selwyn said suddenly. He looked up at Littlefinger, his face full of fury. " _No!_ If anyone but my daughter will raise her child, it will be _me_." He took a few threatening steps towards Littlefinger. "I would destroy myself before I saw my grandchild in _your_ care!" he thundered.

"Don't you _understand_!" Littlefinger's voice suddenly rose, almost to a shout. "This is bigger than you, bigger than all of us!"

"What on Earth do you mean by that?"

"I mean that this child could sit on the _Iron Throne_!"

* * *

Silence.

"Look," Littlefinger looked around at the shocked faces that surrounded him. "The people don't care what house the king comes from. The people pray for a good harvest and a short winter, not for any exalted house or another. And they pray for a ruler who will not burn their houses and city to the ground…Whatever you think of me, everyone in this room, and indeed in the country, agrees that we need to depose Cersei."

Jaime's eyes flickered downward for a moment-but quickly, they burned back into Littlefinger.

"And for that...we need a replacement," He pointed at Brienne, without looking at her. "House Tarth is small and isolated. But…it is well-connected. It boasts ties to House Durrandon, House Baratheon, even House Targaryen. And Evenfall Hall is certainly a seat of importance enough in the Stormlands to rally support of the whole Eastern region if the cause was great enough-such as one of their own back on the Iron Throne."

He pointed at Jaime. "Despite recent years, House Lannister is still the richest and most influential house in the seven kingdoms. Certainly more than enough to rally the West. And if we did care about succession, technically _you_ , Ser Jaime, are heir apparent to Queen Cersei, making this child your own heir to the Iron Throne."

Finally, he came to himself. "The North owes me its life, the Starks their seat at Winterfell. As the guardian of this child, I can bring about a peace in the North, to the same degree of independence and deep friendship with the crown it enjoyed under Robert Baratheon. In return, the North will back the child's claim to the throne. Especially if the child is north-born, and with the Starks onside, I believe the North will lend it's support wholeheartedly to one of its own ascending to the Iron Throne. The North could benefit extremely well from this…especially...if another alliance was created. To strengthen the bond between myself and the child, and the North. Through marriage." He glanced at Sansa, before continuing. "The Vale will of course follow me, and as Lord of Harrenhal I can bring the Riverlands on side, especially now the Late Lord Frey is the _late_ Lord Frey..."

Littlefinger looked around the hall, his hands neatly folded in front of him. Then, he finished. "I believe that, under my guardianship and with my power and influence, through this child I can bring peace and unity and _end these wars_." He paused for breath. "I can make all of this happen. You need only give the child of Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister, the child who could tie the kingdoms together, to my keeping. I will teach him to rule, raise him to be the perfect monarch. Then, I will place him on the Iron Throne, act as regent until he is grown and end all of this _for good_."

Silence. A long silence.

Brienne was breathing hard. Her heart was racing. Her head was spinning. She was simultaneously boiling hot and freezing cold. There was a distant roaring in her ears, getting louder and louder…Brienne looked around. She saw Jon, his hand on the hilt of Ice. Lady Sansa, her eyes wide, looking in horror at Littlefinger. Ser Davos, Sam and Gilly, seemingly far in the distance-but Davos had begun to approach them, his face set. Sam had already begun to usher Gilly and little Sam from the hall…Then, there was her father, stood by her side, his four soldiers behind him. Opposite them…twenty fully-armed knights of the Vale. Littlefinger, his face a perfect mask of nobility, but his beady eyes were shining...

And then there was Jaime. Jaime was the only one who stared right back.

Nothing was said. Nothing had to be said.

She drew her sword.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading, favourite-ing, following and reviewing! Means the world. Honestly, you guys write the lovelist things and it makes me want to cry :) Much love to you all. More soon! xxx**

It was instantaneous.

Jon drew Longclaw. Ser Davos his own blade. Lord Selwyn the family longsword of House Tarth, which was named Blue Star. As soon as he did so-the four knights of the Sapphire Isle cast aside their banners and drew their swords.

Opposite them, with the scraping of steel on scabbard-twenty Vale swords were drawn in a single movement. They were outnumbered. More than two to one.

Littlefinger smiled at Brienne-but his eyes were serious. "This would be a very foolish move, my lady. I would strongly advise against it…"

"I don't care what you advise." Brienne spat, Oathkeeper clutched tightly. She stared at the man before her, only just managing to restrain herself from running at Littlefinger and cutting him up like the pig he was. To even _suggest_ giving her child away-the child she had created, that was with her every moment, whose movements she felt inside her like warm sunlight on her arms, that she already worried about all her waking hours and who haunted her dreams at night, who she loved beyond comprehension…She glared at him, wishing she could remove his smug little head...

"Sansa, get back." Jon ordered, taking a step in front of his sister.

"Go on, my lady." Ser Davos moved aside to allow her to pass through the small group.

Sansa took a few steps back-then looked pleadingly at Brienne. "Come with me!"

"No." Brienne murmured, her eyes directly on Littlefinger's throat.

"You should go, my love." Lord Selwyn told her, clicking his neck both sides. "You shouldn't be fighting-"

" _No_."

"My lady-" Ser Davos began.

"Did you not hear me say no? Because I have said it twice now, and I do not intend to repeat myself again." Brienne hissed, her hand literally shaking with anticipation. There was nothing in the world that could possibly give her greater satisfaction than cutting Littlefinger into small pieces and stamping them into the cold stone floor…

"My lady," Ser Davos continued, his sword raised high, but his voice very calm. "I lost my son in battle years ago. Only months ago I lost…the girl I considered a daughter…" He pursed his lips and breathed heavily. "I would not wish the loss of a child on my worst enemy, and especially not on you. Don't take risks. You should go with Lady Sansa."

"Yes." Lord Selwyn agreed. "Go with Lady Sansa," But he did not sound convinced. He knew his daughter too well.

Brienne felt a little choked. But she did not turn from her target. " _Thank you_ , Ser Davos," she said, clearly. "But that is exactly why I am going to stay and fight."

Ser Davos sighed. "As you wish, my lady. I have your back."

"And I. Always." Lord Selwyn knew better than to try to argue with his daughter.

"And I." Jon Snow glared at Littlefinger. "You will _never_ sit on that throne. Sansa, go _now_!"

"As if I would ever see Lady Sansa hurt…" Littlefinger smiled at her. But Sansa left the room as quickly as she could, through the same door Gilly and Sam had exited. Only drawn blades, the prisoner Jaime, and Littlefinger, remained.

There was a pause.

Littlefinger looked around. He looked Jon Snow up and down, then weighed up Ser Davos. He gave Lord Selwyn a long look, as if silently bargaining with him…but Brienne's father simply glared at him. He turned to Brienne, eyes flicking down to her belly. Looking concerned, he mumbled something to the knight who stood beside him…before addressing the entire party before him.

"Look. I don't want to spill any blood today," Littlefinger said, trying to sound reasonable. "I have twenty knights of the Vale whose sole job it is to keep me alive and carry out my interests. You…you have four knights from an island in the middle of the narrow sea, an aging lord, an old smuggler with half his fingers missing, a bastard fresh from shivering on the Wall, and a pregnant woman. You would be fools to end this in violence."

"Battles have been won at worse odds." Jon Snow growled. His fingers itched on Longclaw. "I will _not_ see you on that throne."

Littlefinger smiled. "Not me. The child."

"Oh, don't give me that shit." Ser Davos snorted. "I'm far too old to take it. That babe would be nothing more than your puppet on that godsforsaken chair all his life. Children should never be used by those who are supposed to _protect_ them as pawns in a great game!"

"Give my child to you to put on the Iron Throne?" Brienne snarled, gripping Oathkeeper so tightly the hilt was wearing grooves in her hand. "I might as well poison him myself and have done with it!"

Littlefinger looked back to Brienne-but he only had to look at her face for a second before…he sighed.

" _So be it_."

He turned around and walked away, leaving his knights open to attack. "Make short work of this." he ordered them. "I trust it will not take long. I appreciate you may have to _hurt_ her...she won't go down easily-but _do not kill_ _Lady Brienne_. I need that child." Then, he approached the knights who held Ser Jaime. "The Kingslayer will remain with me. As for the others…" Two knights of the Vale grabbed Jaime's shoulders, and pulled him away, after Littlefinger. "Do what you must."

Jaime looked back at Brienne. They made eye contact…

It was that moment-that Jon struck.

Instantly, the hall became a battlefield.

It was as if a wall of silver and Arryn sigils had descended on them, like iron and steel rain, punctuated with scrapes and clangs and the sounds of fighting men. In the first few seconds, the head of one of the Tarth knights had flown off and rolled along the floor, spilling blood as it went. Ser Davos, drenched in the blood as it flew through the air, managed to stab the killer in the side immediately after, before tackling another knight. Jon's training and experience outdid the knights, whose discipline made them predictable, as he took out two in one mighty swing of Longclaw, opening the path for Brienne, who ran, clutching Oathkeeper and followed by her father, Blue Star defending her back. She ran as fast as she could, shoving knights out of the way, until she reached Littlefinger's retreating back. She swung Oathkeeper high in the air, and brought it down…cutting the ropes which bound Jaime to his captors. Quickly, her father cut the throat of the knight on Littlefinger's left, while Brienne grabbed the dead man's sword and thrust it into Jaime's chained hand, glancing against the stump which he had not reattached his golden hand to. Quick as a flash, the final knight of the Vale grabbed Littlefinger, lifted him right off the floor and began to sprint away as fast as he could, Ignoring Jaime, how he stared at her, his eyes wide with amazement, Brienne spun around and stabbed a knight of the Vale through the gut who had been aiming at Lord Selwyn's back. Watching out of the corner of her eye in fury as the final knight of the Vale spirited Littlefinger away as fast as he could, she had to turn back to the battle in hand.

Brienne swung into action, kicking one knight of the Vale in the groin as she fought another, blocking his blows and finally managing to split his head in two. However, she was not so lucky when the kicked knight got to his feet and put up an even fiercer fight. Brienne screamed as his sword cut deep into her arm-but it was not her sword arm, so she ignored it and fought on, driving Oathkeeper deep into chest. Twisting around, she took up the fight with another knight behind her, who was quicker than her but not half so strong. Eventually, she cut him down and turned to look around. Jon's face was contorted as he grunted and yelled, fighting two knights at once…but he was standing over something…a body. Someone on the floor.

Ser Davos Seaworth lay on the ground, his eyes closed, blood pouring from his head, an almighty gash across his leg, so deep cracked bone showed through…

There was a scream from her other side. A knight had stabbed Lord Selwyn deep in the shoulder…Before she could stop to think, she rushed over and, with one swing of Oathkeeper she had cut the knight's arm clean off. As he screamed and cursed, she ran him through, before grabbing her father. Despite his protesting, she dragged him to the side of the hall and turned around to defend him, another knight of Tarth rushing to her aid.

Jon finished off the knights he fought, killing one and knocking the other unconscious with his fist, before sticking Longclaw into the back of his head as he lay on the floor. Quickly, Brienne looked around, counting as she slew another Vale knight, thrusting Oathkeeper into his neck. Only seven knights of the Vale still stood. Brienne, Jon, and two of the Tarth knights remained fighting, for the other Tarth knight now lay on the floor near Ser Davos, his eyes both smashed into his head. He was still alive. And screaming. The sound was horrifying.

And Jaime was nowhere to be seen.

The seven remaining Vale knights formed a circle around the four of the remaining fighters. As they were cornered, Brienne caught Jon's eye.

" _Where is the Kingslayer_?" Jon shouted over the screams of injured and dying men. He was bleeding from his forehead, and his armour was covered in the bloodstains of the knights.

" _I don't know_!" Brienne felt a knot of fear form tightly in her stomach.

" _I told you he couldn't be trusted_!" Jon yelled, wiping blood furiously from his face. " _He's fucking ran for it_!"

The pain in Brienne's slashed arm seemed to vanish. Images flashed through her head-Jaime's sincere blue eyes, the words of his oath, how he had cried in her arms the night they were reunited…but there was no time to think about him. Not when-

Two of the knights of the Vale lunged straight at Jon, who began to fight them both as hard as he could, killing one almost instantly. However, the third knight of Tarth was not so lucky. Three Vale knights descended on him. The last thing Brienne saw of him was his disembodied leg being thrown away. Brienne brandished Oathkeeper-but both the remaining knights ran straight past her, and began to attack the final, and best, knight of Tarth. She frowned…then remembered Littlefinger's orders to leave her alive. None of them were willing to fight her, as they knew she would destroy them and they could do little to defend themselves. Well, _good_. She gritted her teeth. There was more fight left in her yet, and she wasn't going to waste it.

With a cry, she lunged for the three knights who had killed her father's man, and gave battle, assisted by Jon as he rushed to her aid. They fought the four knights between them. However, four became five as the final, and best, knight of Tarth finally fell, taking only one knight of the Vale with him. Though both Jon and Brienne had Valyrian steel swords…the last standing Knights of the Vale were last-standing for a reason. Each was highly-skilled and so well-armoured that it was almost impossible to find a good target. Swords swung, faster and faster…it was getting difficult to keep track, to dodge all five blades…Jon was beginning to lunge madly, managing to kill one man-before being knocked to the ground by another. He lay on the floor, flat on his back, as the four last knights of the Vale stood over him.

"Jon!" Brienne rushed to his aid-but she was knocked back by one of the knights. Again, she rushed to Jon, managing to drive Oathkeeper into the knight's back, flooring him-but she was grabbed by another. Noticeably bigger and stronger than the other knights, he managed to wrestle Oathkeeper from her hand and fling the great sword to the floor. Quick as lightening, he held his own sword to Brienne's throat, gripping her so tightly even she could not break free.

" _Jon_!" she shouted again. Jon was wrestling madly on the floor with the two last knights of the vale, who combined were as good as him and better…Finally, one of them managed to pry Longclaw from his hands-

" _No_!" Brienne fought as hard as she could to get free, biting on the arms of the knight who held her, struggling so hard that the blade of his sword grazed her neck, a thin red line appearing and beginning to drip blood.

One knight of the Vale held Jon down, the other stood over him, Longclaw poised at his throat. Jon was about to be killed with his own sword, he knew it, and the knights knew it. The knight raised Longclaw high into the air and brought it down hard, the blade straight at Jon's heart-

Suddenly, arms appeared from nowhere. A pair of them, muscular and golden, stretched around the back of the poised knight-and cut his throat. Before the other knight could even react-pale, chubby arms reached around his back and cut his throat, rather more messily.

As the two knights fell-Samwell Tarly stood up straight, breathing hard in shock. It had been a long time since he had killed a man. But the owner of the golden arms, one of them handless, his wrists still chained together…he bent to the floor, dropped his own sword and grabbed Oathkeeper from where it lay. He marched directly up to the big knight who held Brienne. As he looked up at the man, a sort of smile played around his lips.

"I'd let go of her, if I were you," Jaime said lightly, raising an eyebrow. "She's not nice when she's angry."

Instantly, he spun Oathkeeper around in his hand and threw it to Brienne. The second she caught the hilt-she twisted around and stabbed the knight in the groin. He gave an almighty cry of pain, falling to his knees as the blood and entrails gushed out from between his legs. Brienne reclaimed her sword, watching with some satisfaction as the final knight died…

" _Brienne_ …" Jaime walked up to her, his voice now quiet and relieved. "Thank the gods, thank the gods…" He put a hand on her arm-then retracted it quickly. "You're bleeding!" He looked in horror at deep gash in her arm, which spread from her bicep, across the inside of her elbow, down to her wrist, blood still gushing out of it, the seeping shallow cut on her neck…

"You have a keen eye." she mumbled sarcastically, her teeth still gritted from battle. Then-she remembered. " _Father_!" She scanned the room for him. "Where are you?"

"I'm fine!" Lord Selwyn staggered to his feet and walked slowly over to the group assembled around the bodies of the last knights. He had a slight limp-someone must have kicked him. Brienne rushed over to help, feeling oddly dizzy as she moved quickly. He had already torn a portion of material from his tunic and wrapped it tightly around his shoulder, although it was already saturated with blood. "I'm fine!" he protested again. "Had much worse." He turned to his daughter, before wrapping his good arm around her and holding her tightly, kissing her forehead. "I forgot how good you really were, little bird..I'm so proud of you."

Brienne leaned into her father for a moment…she was beginning to feel strange…her arm was bleeding so much...she was so _tired_...before turning back to the others. "Has Littlefinger left the castle?" she shouted at no one in particular.

Jaime stepped forward. "I...I couldn't stop him…I chased him when he ran…but that knight he was with, he…was too fast…" Jaime looked down at the floor, ashamed. "He got through the gate just before they closed it…Then I ran into Sam here, and he-he said we should go back to help you."

"And thank the gods you did." Jon said, grunting as Sam helped him up from the floor. He was breathing hard, blood matted in his hair. "You saved my life…" he said to Jaime, looking quite shocked, as if he didn't quite believe it had happened.

"I'll add you to the list." said Jaime grimly.

"And I did!" Sam looked a little put-out-but he smiled, hugging Jon like a brother. "I'm so glad you're alive."

"I've heard that too many times this year…" Jon muttered darkly. He caught Jaime's eye for a moment and opened his mouth to speak-

A low moan from the floor level.

" _Davos_!"

Dropping Sam, Jon sprinted to the knight who lay on the floor, now in a small pool of his own blood and the blood of those who fell around him. His head was bloody, and one could see white bone visible in his legs as they bled…But his eyes were open, very white and staring. Jon fell to his knees beside him.

"Sam! _Sam_!" Jon yelled. "He's _alive_! _Quick!"_

Sam rushed over and knelt beside Jon, followed by everyone else who still stood. Fumbling slightly, Sam was emptying his pockets of bandages, milk of the poppy-

"I…I don't think…there's any need for that…" Ser Davos whispered. His voice sounded so distant, as if he was far away. He could hardly catch his breath. "Don't think I've got…much use for any of it…" He began to close his eyes. "Don't waste it on…a dead man…"

"No. _No_!" Jon slapped the knight hard in the face, then again, and again. "Don't you _dare_! Don't you fucking _dare_!"

"Not quite how I imagined…behaviour my deathbed…" Ser Davos gave a small smile, his teeth stained red with blood. He looked up at Jon, his eyes sad, yet peaceful. "I'll give your…best to your father…shall I?"

" _SAM_!" Jon roared. "Sam, _what are you doing_! Fix him! Fix him _now_!"

"It's alright…" Ser Davos murmured. He looked up-and his eyes focused on Brienne. She bent down to him, a strange ringing beginning to creep into her ears...she was so _tired_... "Well, girl…" Davos looked up at her. "by the old gods and the new and every god there is…you had _better_ fucking love that child…"

Brienne knelt beside him, taking his hand. She knew a dying man when she saw one. But looking at Jon's face, so young, so twisted with horror…she knew she had to try. "You can make sure I do." She leaned down and kissed the old knight's forehead, tasting blood as she did. "You can make sure. Just…just hold on…" she said, trying to sound convinced that he would make it when she was sure of the opposite...her heart was very heavy. He was a good man. A _great_ man. "Hold on, Ser Davos..."

"It's okay...I'm going to…going to see my…own children…" Ser Davos gave a small groan of pain, but he smiled still. "Hold my Matthos…little Shireen…tell them…I'm _sorry_ …"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Jon yelled, slapping him, shaking him hard. "SAM! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

"YES!" Sam was ready. He brandished his materials, uncorking a small bottle. "You can save the speeches for another time! Now, Ser Davos, I need you to keep breathing for me! " Sam dove in, forcing milk of the poppy down the throat of the knight, as Ser Davos' eyes lay half closed. Everyone moved back to give Sam some space-except Jon, who was still shouting in Ser Davos' pale, blood-soaked, completely motionless face…

Brienne knelt again to the floor, feeling the blood still pouring out of her own arm, the long slash gaping, a harsh stinging pain at her throat where the strong knight's blade had caught her. She touched it with her fingers…but they were so limp…So tired…Wait... _Jaime_...She looked up, unable to quite control her eyes. "Jaime?" Her voice came out unfocused.

Instantly, Jaime threw his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. "Gods…you look so pale..." he whispered, kissing her hair. "I…I was so afraid for you…if-if anything had happened to you, I…I…" He kissed her again, fiercely. "I don't know…" Ripping a portion from his own sleeve, he pressed it to Brienne's wounds, holding it tightly there to stop the blood. But there was so _much_ blood…so much _blood._..

Her head spinning, Brienne allowed herself to become weak in his arms. To have Jaime hold her again, after so long behind bars, was nothing short of heaven…but….she was utterly drained…her own eyes half-closed. Was it her, or was the room starting to become dark? Gods, she was _tired_...She could not concentrate enough to check…she was so _dizzy_ …All she could feel were Jaime's arms around her...she forgot they were not alone, forgot about everything else...everything else _was_ getting dark...

"Seeing you there…" Jaime murmured to her as he did his best to stop the bleeding. "In your armour…with your sword…cutting down men…covered in blood…and _pregnant_ , with my child…" Jaime sounded breathless. He held her as tightly as he could, kissing her hard, his lips lingering on her hair as he whispered into it…."It was…I just…I…I _lov_ -Brienne? _Brienne_! _Answer me_!"

Suddenly-the doors of the hall were flung open.

There, in the doorway…stood Podrick Payne. He was…covered in blood...his sleeve drenched...that sleeve was wrapped around...a man. After Pod, in rushed three Winterfell guards from the gate, too late for the battle long over. Behind them, Gilly rushed in, looking all around for Sam, little Sam crying in her arms. There was a sword in Pod's hand…and he held that sword to the throat of…Littlefinger.

It was then that Brienne passed out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, following and favourite-ing-it honestly means so, so much and much love to every single one of you :) please continue to do so. I hope you are all enjoying this-regular posts should continue and I will let you know if it will ever be late. Otherwise, as always, you can expect more tomorrow :) xxx**

 **Thank you so much to you who pointed out I had been stupidly calling Jon's sword by the wrong name-so sorry! I have gone through the previous chapter and changed it! How embarrassing :P thank you! xxx**

It had been the work of ten minutes to escort Littlefinger down into the cell that Jaime had occupied. Unarmed and without guards, he put up no fight as Tormund, who had arrived on the scene moments after the fighting was done, too late, frog-marched him downstairs, followed by Pod, who held a sword to his back.

" _In_!" Tormund barked, pushing Baelish down into the hay. He slammed the cell door after him, turning the key swiftly in the lock. Pocketing it, he snarled down at the man in behind the bars. "You disgusting little Southern shit."

"You don't even know what is happening!" Baelish glared straight back at him, braver now the bars separated them. "You don't know what a big mistake you're making!"

"I know you ordered men to attack Jon Snow and Lady Brienne." Tormund hissed. "And that's all I need to know." He spat at Littlefinger, the pool of saliva landing just shy of his knee. "Come on, boy!" Tormund turned to leave, shepherding Pod to the door. But Pod did not move. He held his sword still to Littlefinger, an expression of pure hatred on his face, which did not suit him at all.

"How _dare_ you threaten my lady?" Pod demanded. Bravely, he smashed his sword against Littlefinger's bars. "You will not do it again, or this time I will not be so merciful as to let you sit in prison." He looked almost surprised at his own daring.

"Got a bit of a crush, hey, Pod?" A voice came from the shadows. "Seven hells, look at you!" Ser Bronn of the Blackwater had hurried to the front of his cell, staring at Pod, who was covered in blood. "Been at the strawberry jam?"

Pod looked at the sellsword. "I killed a knight of the Vale."

Bronn's eyes almost popped out of his head. "You did _what_?"

"He was helping Lord Baelish escape. I chased him-and I kill-"

"Yes, I heard what you said!" Bronn looked amazed. "Well, well! Who'd have thought it? Told you y'were getting too old to be a squire. Good gods, you deserve a knighthood. First the Blackwater, now this. How many more acts of heroism can we expect from you, hey?"

"Maybe enough that people will stop being surprised." Pod murmured. He turned to follow Tormund from the cells.

"You have no idea what a big mistake you're making!" Baelish called after them. "I demand an audience with Jon Snow and Lord Selwyn to discuss what has happened _rationally_ -and-"

"I'm sure you'll see them soon." Pod mumbled.

"Hey!" Bronn tapped the lock of his own cell. "Any chance I can wangle a ticket out of here like that smarmy git Ser Jaime? Or do I have to get some strapping six-foot woman warrior up the pole as well?"

Tormund and Pod both whipped back around, their faces the picture of shock and confusion.

"Oh…" Ser Bronn coughed awkwardly. "You didn't know? Er…sit down, boys…"

* * *

Brienne lay in her chamber, on top of the furs on her bed, her armour removed by some squire so she was comfortable. Her arm had been heavily bandaged, a kind of gauze applied to the slit of her throat, the blood all but cleaned away. A little colour had returned to her cheeks, and she looked peaceful. Her eyes were closed, her eyelashes did not even flicker as she slept deeply, breathing softly. Jaime's red cloak, lined with fur, hung on the end of her bed.

Jaime was beside her. Jaime had not left her side, and no mortal man could have made him move. He held her hand gently, tracing the lines and edges of it with his fingers, stroking it, as if memorizing its shape in his. Both hand and stump were dirty and stained with blood, still chained together. But it didn't matter. He kept looking down at her, his eyes on the rise and fall of her chest, checking she was still breathing. It was as if he kept having to remind himself that she had survived, and was alive.

Gilly had cleaned her wounds, bandaged her, talked softly to her as she had drifted in and out of consciousness in Jaime's arms, her father close by, holding her, one moment whispering tenderly to his daughter, the next shouting at the poor Gilly for not moving fast enough. Eventually, as Ser Davos was taken by the distraught Jon and a Winterfell guard from the room, broken, bleeding and unresponsive, Samwell Tarly had given Brienne essence of nightshade, telling them that she would sleep until morning. And so she had slipped into this death-like slumber, unaware of being carried by Jaime and another Winterfell guard to her room, unaware of the snow pounding at her window, _thump…thump…thump_ …unaware of Jaime's hand around hers.

But at least the colour was returning to her cheeks. Jaime carefully lay her hand down and stroked her face as gently as he could, wishing to every god there was that he had two hands, just so he didn't have to let go of her hand to touch her…He stroked her cheek, immense guilt building up inside him. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I'm sorry…" It killed him to think that she had been in danger-that their child had been in such danger… Without her armour, Jaime could clearly see her belly, swollen softly beneath her tunic, showing undoubtedly that there was life inside her…Jaime reached down and stroked it, feeling tears behind his eyes as he did… "I'm sorry…" he whispered again. "I swore to protect you…and your mother…and I did not…" He looked down, gritting his teeth. "Well, never again." He looked back up. " _Never again_."

He looked back at Brienne, her face so still in her sleep. "Oh Brienne…why did I let you fight?" He took her hand again, bringing it to his lips and kissing it fiercely. "No-why did _you_ let you fight? Why do you have to be so… _honourable_?" He shook his head, a grimace in place. He looked back down at her rounded belly, thinking of their child, curled up safely inside. For now… "I know you won't want to, Brienne. I know it will hurt like the seven hells. But you _have_ to stop. You must. Just until our child is born…Call it "protecting the innocent". That's part of the knight's vow, isn't it?" He kissed her hand again, pressing it to his cheek and holding it there. "You _have_ to stop…let me fight for you instead. Fuck, that's what I'm supposed to do! I swore it to you…let me fight for you… _please_ …"

Jaime felt so powerless as she slept on. He leant down over her, gently brushing her hair out of her face. It was still damp from the heat of the battle…Slowly, he leaned down, until his face was inches from her own. "I wish you would wake up, so you could just berate me for saying that. Or say anything at all…" he whispered. "I wish you'd wake up, so you could tell me to stop wasting my breath talking to someone who can't hear me like an idiot and shut up…" He laughed, feeling tears prickling again in his eyes. "Oh Brienne…for the sake of the gods…"

He leaned in…and kissed her motionless, dry, chapped lips…

Finally, when he could stand it no longer…he broke the kiss reluctantly, tasting her even as he rose…He looked down at her face, watching it for any movement at all, her eyelashes for a flutter, her lips for a smile…But nothing. Jaime sighed. This was not a fairy-tale for children.

Jaime resumed his position, holding her hand, counting her breaths…

* * *

With a slow, creaking sound, the door was pushed open. Someone had entered.

"How is she?" It was Lord Selwyn, still limping slightly. He closed the door behind him, his arm in a sling, the shoulder heavily bound.

"Asleep." Jaime whispered, not looking up from her.

"Good." Lord Selwyn approached her bed. Gently, he stroked her hair with a rough, wrinkled hand. "She should be resting…"

"Did you speak with Jon Snow? Any news of Ser Davos?" Jaime still could not tear his eyes from Brienne, watching her breathing.

"I did. Jon is…distressed. He feels foolish for being taken in by Littlefinger…not his fault of course. Lord Commander or not, he's only a boy…" Lord Selwyn sighed. "A boy thrust into a man's place…"

"And Ser Davos?"

"…Samwell Tarly has given him essence of nightshade. If he doesn't survive the night…"

"Let us pray." Jaime murmured.

A long time passed, as the father and Jaime looked down at the woman whom both of them cared so deeply for it almost tore them apart to see her like this. Lord Selwyn breathed hard, his eyes tight, his mouth a straight line. He stroked her hair, and Jaime knew he, as any other parent, was silently bargaining with the gods to take all of his child's pain away and let him bear it himself instead.

Suddenly, Lord Selwyn's eyes fell on Jaime's hand, which was clasped tightly around Brienne's. He coughed a little. "Seven hells…I should tell you to get the fuck away from my daughter…"

Jaime gave a small laugh. "I'm not sure I could manage that…"

There was a short silence. Both of them turned back to Brienne, who slept on.

"You're not good enough for her." Lord Selwyn muttered darkly, looking down at his sleeping daughter.

"No…no I'm not." Jaime said, holding her hand tighter. "Of course I'm not…she is the most loyal warrior in the seven kingdoms…and I…" He looked down sadly at Brienne. "I am not fit to saddle her horse…"

Lord Selwyn looked searchingly at Jaime. It was as if those striking blue eyes, so identical to Brienne's, were looking straight through him, so aged with wisdom and experience that nothing could hide from them any longer. He stared a long time, and Jaime could see the word " _kingslayer_ " written all over his face…but finally, it cleared. The old lord frowned-then sighed again. "Then again…" He gave a grunt. "I don't think any man in the seven kingdoms will ever be…" He sighed. "I'm not sorry I punched you, mind." he added, warningly.

"No, you shouldn't be…" Jaime murmured. "I deserved it. Any good father would have done the same… _I'd_ have done the same…"

Lord Selwyn looked back at Jaime, his eyes strange. It was an extraordinary atmosphere between them. Not quite respect…not quite hatred…something very odd. "You _should_ marry her, you know…"

"I know…" Jaime whispered. He wanted more than ever to kiss her, but could not bring himself to before her father. "I know I should. I _would_ …" He took a deep breath. "I…I would." He swallowed hard, as if the words had caught in his throat. "But…but if it is against her will, I never can."

"Well, she made it quite clear it's against her will." Lord Selwyn shook his head. But he was looking at Jaime, his head tilted. Before long, however, he had turned back to his daughter. He stroked her hair again, sighing heavily. "Oh, little bird…" he whispered to her. "Whatever will you do next…?"

Jaime felt his heart breaking…perhaps this was the only man in the world who loved Brienne as much as he. For he loved her-of _course_ he loved her. The thought of it sent a strange, warm feeling all over his body as he told himself this again and again. He loved her-perhaps he had always loved her, perhaps that was why he had believed he hated her when they had first met, years ago, as she dragged him across the country. Perhaps it was defence. But there was nothing to defend any more, nothing to hide. To watch Brienne lie there, sleeping, broken, and yet whole, and pregnant with his child…Jaime could do nothing but sit by her, loving her, waiting for her to wake up so that he could show her that he did, and he would love her until the sun rose in the west and set in the east…

Lord Selwyn had walked over to the window. He was staring out of it, watching the snow fall on Winterfell. "Do you think Lord Baelish…might have had a point?"

"What?" Jaime's voice suddenly rose in outrage as he was jerked horribly from his thoughts. Ripping his eyes from Brienne, he stared at Lord Selwyn in disbelief.

"Shhh!" Lord Selwyn shook his head. "Don't wake her. God knows she needs to rest for once…I didn't mean giving the child away. _Never_. Of course never."

Jaime relaxed slightly.

"I meant…do you really think…do you think he could sit on the Iron Throne?"

Silence.

Jaime felt his heart rate increase. He looked straight into Lord Selwyn's eyes.

"That…that _throne_ …that chair killed my entire family." he whispered. "It sends men and women to insanity, turns brother against brother, sister from sister, sons and against fathers and mothers against daughters…and it kills." He took a deep breath. "I know Baelish wants the throne, and he would do anything he could to get to it. He would kill any number of people, destroy entire cities…sacrifice babies…but you're right-Baelish was correct in that the child's claim to the throne is strong-stronger than Cersei's, perhaps stronger than anyone living…perhaps, _perhaps_ …the child could take the throne."

Lord Selwyn's eyes widened. " _Perhaps_ …"

"But…but that doesn't mean he should." Jaime said, looking back at Brienne. His eyes focused on her belly, imagining their child inside, unaware of the power he could possess, the world he could turn upside down… "It doesn't mean he should. I will _not_ have that chair devour my child too."

Lord Selwyn nodded…but he said nothing. There was still a strange look in his eyes…

Both men continued to watch Brienne, counting her breaths.

* * *

Something was warm and soft beneath her…beneath her whole body…it felt like…fur…and someone was holding her hand.

Brienne's eyes fluttered open. Suddenly, everything came back to her all at once. Her father, Littlefinger, the battle, Ser Davos, Pod, how everything had gone…

"Brienne?" A voice from beside her. The familiarity of the hand holding hers suddenly hit her-Jaime. Jaime was with her…Jaime was beside her…she managed to look up at him, his golden hair and handsome face was beginning to come into focus, the blue eyes, the lips, the expression of concern… "Brienne?"

Suddenly-her eyes snapped completely open. Her heart went suddenly cold as she gasped in fear, a hand flying down to her belly, feeling the gentle swelling-it seemed normal, but-

"There now, shhhhhh," Jaime was stroking her hair, trying to calm her. "Everything is fine, I promise-"

"Where is Littlefinger?" she demanded, starting to sit up-but she found one of her arms did not seem to be working properly. It was bound tightly in bandages. In that moment, she became aware of the pain-and of the pain and stiffness of her throat, where the strong knight's sword had cut...

"In a cell below. It's okay! You have to- _no_!" Jaime gently stopped her from getting up and reaching for Oathkeeper, who lay on the table beside her, inside its scabbard. "No! you have to rest-"

" _I have to_ …" Brienne tried to sit up again, but her head still felt fuzzy. Reluctantly, she allowed Jaime to gently lie her down again.

"He will still be there in a few hours…" Jaime murmured, stroking her hair again. "You can see him then…" Leaning down to her, he kissed her cheek in relief. "You're alright. Everything is alright."

Brienne finally looked at Jaime properly. There was another newly black bruise around his eye. She reached up, her hand still clumsy from the deep sleep, and touched his face. It felt so warm and real… Jaime quickly covered her hand with his own, holding her as close as he could. "What happened to your eye?" Brienne mumbled vaguely.

"I met your father, remember?" Jaime gave a weak smile.

Brienne rolled her eyes. "I remember _now_ …where is my father?"

"Asleep. His chamber is not far away. I can go and-"

" _Asleep_?" Brienne looked around. "What time is it?"

"Sometime before dawn." Jaime said, vaguely. "Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter. You're awake now. Shame really." The ghost of a smile. "You're so much less _irritating_ when you're unconscious."

Brienne glared up at him as best she could. Jaime laughed. "I'm _joking_."

"I know. Otherwise you'd be the one lying helplessly on the bed with limb cut to pieces and a slash at your throat." she said darkly.

"Oh Brienne, I've missed you so much…" Jaime whispered. Slowly, oh so gently, he climbed onto the bed beside her. He wrapped his body around hers, holding her as close as he could, kissing her hair. "Everything is going to be fine now, I promise."

"You can't possibly promise that." Brienne said…but it felt so wonderful to be held like this, she almost didn't care. Jaime's body warmed her, and she felt her love for him take over as she looked at him, his face so close to her own. She almost forgot about Littlefinger, her mind racing back to the last time he had held her like this, seemingly a lifetime ago in that tent in Riverrun…only there had not been no fur, just grass, no new bandages, just their old scars, no clothes, just skin…just _skin_ …

"You're thinking about it too, aren't you?" Jaime whispered to her. He held onto her tighter. "That tent?"

Brienne looked down, unable to meet his eye. But…she found herself leaning even closer towards him. "Perhaps I was…"

Jaime paused for a second. He bent his head closer to her…then leaned back from her slightly. "Just so we're clear…my getting up here with you was purely intended to comfort you…I didn't...I mean, it wasn't because I thought we'd-I mean-"

But he stopped, because Brienne had kissed him full on the lips. Brienne felt the pain in her arm and the stinging in her throat all but go away as she lost herself in the man she loved. She buried her fingers in his hair, as he kissed her passionately, his lips dry and his hands rough, and yet so, so amazing…emotion rushed over her as she realised just how much she loved him, how she had longed for that tent every night since, how now he held her again, far too close, she almost had no idea what to do…but something deep within her told her that she didn't have to do anything at all.

When the kiss finally ended, Jaime looked her in the eyes, his own somewhat misty. He looked at her as she had never been looked at before, so seriously and yet with such longing… "Are you sure you want to do this?" he whispered. Brienne loved him more than ever for asking this, even with such desperation on his face. "I mean, you've had such a day-we don't have to-"

"If not now, when?" Brienne had long since made up her mind. She did not care that her muscles were tired, her bones aching…she needed Jaime. "We may not get another chance…and"

"If you're _sure_ -"

"Jaime, I am fucking sure!" Brienne almost laughed.

Jaime blinked. "I've never heard you curse… _Well_ …you might have in the tent…" A smile in his eyes. That was all it took. Jaime let go as Brienne did, finally, after waiting so long for each other. All those hours separated by distance or bars suddenly did not matter-it was all worth it. To feel his skin again, almost too warm to touch, the muscles of his back clenching and unclenching, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his chest...in the small chamber, locked from the outside world by a bolt, on these soft furs and far beneath the window through which the snow glowed and shone in the first rays of dawn, finally, after so long...


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! It means the world, much love to all of you, and keep doing so!**

 **Quick disclaimer-this is only half the chapter I wanted to post, but since I have been very busy, I would rather post a reasonable half-chapter than a rushed full one. Hope that's okay! More plot tomorrow xxx**

 **Also, thank you to those who have introduced me to the word "Braime" and variations thereupon to describe them as a couple! Hahahaha! :P much love to all of you xxx**

Brienne's eyes fluttered open. It was late, later than she'd usually awaken. The sun was already shining brightly, last night's snow turning to mush on the windowsill. Yet she was warm. So very warm…and it was then she felt him. Strong, golden arms around her, one handless…a man's breath tickling the back of her neck…a light stubble from neglecting shaving gently scratched her cheek. A huge smile spread across Brienne's face as she recalled what had happened last night, looking at the burned-out candle on the cabinet beside her. Gently, as if to make the whole scene more perfect than anything the seven heavens could offer, she felt the baby gently move inside her, reminding her he was there with her. As her heart almost ached with love she wished she could stay exactly like this forever, knowing their child was so safe and warm…and still tasting Jaime on her lips, feeling traces of him all over her body, his whispers ringing in her ears… _You have the most astonishing eyes_ …and, best of all, the physical movements of the child, and Jaime Lannister still holding her in his arms, proof that it was all real…

"Mmmmf?" came a croak from behind her. "You awake?"

"Yes," Brienne whispered, her heart glowing at the sound of his voice.

"Bloody _finally_. I thought my arms were going to go dead…"

Brienne rolled her eyes, giggling softly. This surprised her-she never giggled. "You could have woken me."

"Couldn't bear to do it…" Jaime kissed the back of her head. "You're so nice when you're asleep. I like it a lot. You're far less _irritating_ that way."

Brienne elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"How _dare_ you?" Jaime gasped theatrically in pain, poking her gently in the arm. "A most unfair battle this is. It is definitely against my code of honour and chivalry to shove a pregnant woman whilst in bed with her. I should think it says so specifically."

"Most certainly," Brienne purred, taking his hand and kissing it. "It would be completely immoral."

"Utterly depraved…though I'd say what you did to me last night was a fairly _depraved act_ …"

"Shut _up_!" Brienne hissed-but she couldn't stop laughing.

"Gods, you're actually _blushing_!" Jaime was amused as he brought her hand to his lips, kissed it tenderly and held it against his face, still teasing her. "Who'd have even imagined that the _noble_ Lady Brienne would-?"

" _Shut up_!"

Jaime laughed harder, leaning over her to kiss her lips. She closed her eyes to enjoy it, forgetting-then gave a soft cry of pain as she twisted her neck.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing…" Carefully, with her heavily bandaged arm, she touched the thin cut on her throat, which had scabbed over and was now a strange red-brown colour. "It's fine…"

"Oh…" Jaime carefully kissed the cut, his lips barely brushing it. "Sorry, I forgot for a moment…oh gods, look at your arm in the light…" He gently stroked the bandages that covered it. "You're broken and shredded all over…" he murmured, his voice soft. "I'm so sorry-"

"Will you stop?" Brienne scoffed. "What could you have done? You were in chains! And you were chasing Littlefinger…"

"Nothing is more hateful than failing to protect the one you- _someone_." Jaime looked strange…but he let it go. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Not really…" Brienne said, bravely. "I've had much worse."

"Oh by all the gods, please tell me if you are. You don't have to be noble all the time…" Jaime slipped his hand around her waist, resting it on her belly, his hand so warm and gentle. "You are pregnant! You have free reign to complain as _much_ as you like."

Brienne smiled, leaning back into him. It was indescribable how she felt…she loved the way Jaime treated her strange, gawky, lanky body as something incredible, even almost beautiful...It was so wonderful to feel so utterly _normal_ , almost like any other two people, waking up together… "It's not so bad…I'm not even aching…that much…"

" _Well_ ," Jaime kissed her neck in a very different way, whispering into it: "Clearly _I_ didn't do my job properly last night…"

" _Jaime_!"

"I love how awkward you are talking about love-making, even now!" Jaime laughed at her, gently rubbing her belly. "It's so funny."

Brienne couldn't help but smile at him. "You are an arse."

"Thank you." Jaime said, kissing her neck again. "You know, if you're _really_ not in much pain…" He reached the base of her neck and began to kiss down her spine. "…I'm sure we can…" Brienne could feel his hand begin to slip down to her thigh. "…try out that certain, completely un-knightly, _utterly depraved_ act that you loved _so much_ again…mmmmm…"

Suddenly-a knock. A frantic knock.

Brienne suddenly sprang away from Jaime, looking in horror at the door.

"Shhh!" Jaime whispered, reaching out to wrap his arms around her again. "Come on, pretend you're not here…I want to-"

"No, stop!" she hissed. "It might be my father. Get up!"

With a muffled sigh, Jaime got to his feet and began to pull his clothes on, turning respectfully away from Brienne as she did the same, slightly more urgently. When she had pulled her nightdress over her head, she stood up, staring warily at the door.

Another knock. Unmistakably agitated.

Jaime looked across at her, still half out of his shirt, looking more than a little panicked. But before she could even begin to come up with an excuse as to why Jaime Lannister was in her chamber, having clearly spent the night there-Jaime had dived straight under her bed, pulling the furs down to cover the gap between the bedframe and the floor.

"By all the gods, are you a _child_?" she hissed exasperatedly. But there was no time. Quickly, Brienne pulled Jaime's cloak around her shoulders, scarlet and lined with fur, and made her way to the door. She slid the bolt across and pulled it open.

"My lady!" Pod bowed low, almost to the floor. "I-I am so so sorry!" he stammered, looking up at her with wide, remorseful eyes.

"Oh, Pod, I think you've more than redeemed yourself." Ser Bronn appeared behind him, grinning. "Morning m'lady."

" _My lady_." Tormund pushed both Bronn and Pod out of the doorway, roughly grabbing both of her shoulders. "Would you have Jaime Lannister dead for what he has done to you? Because I'll kill him for you. I'll kill him nice and slow, cut him to pieces, remove his head and balls and present them to you, if that is what you want?"

"Don't touch her!" Pod stepped forward bravely. "You could hurt her!"

"Shut up, you tiny-cocked little shit." Tormund hissed. "My lady, I will scalp him living and-"

"I think you'll find, if you ask around Kings Landing, his cock is magic." Bronn snickered, looking apologetically at Brienne. "Sorry, m'lady, meaning no offense-"

"My lady-" Pod begun.

"-scrape that Lannister fucker's insides clean from his gut-" Tormund was threatening.

"-sincerest apologies-"

"-and then cut off his cock-"

"-what sort of a squire am I-?"

"-my lady need only command and he is dead."

"-I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I swear to all the gods."

Both men finished talking in the same instant, although Brienne had only caught half of what they were saying. She looked down at Pod, still in a half bow, looking so pitiful she half wanted to laugh and half wanted to cry. _Oh Pod_ …She looked around the faces of the other two men at her door, Tormund furious, Bronn slightly amused.

First, she turned to Pod, drawing herself to full height. "Pod, you went above and beyond your duty as a squire. You may not have the title, but you are every bit as worthy a knight as any man in the seven kingdoms."

"Perhaps more than some." Ser Bronn grinned at him, slapping him on the back. "There you are. Told you."

Pod himself did not look convinced-but a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he looked modestly to the ground. "You are most kind, my lady." But when he looked back up, his little face was far more grave. "But I ought to have-I ought to have done so much more for you now-since you're-because you're-I mean-" He tripped over the words, trying to find the right one. His eyes kept flicking down to her belly, almost comically. "I should have-"

"Oh Pod, don't be an idiot," said Brienne, adopting the usual brisk tone she used teaching him. "You weren't to know. There is no point beating yourself up about it. Besides, I have been rendered neither helpless nor useless and I am neither ill nor dying. Now, if you want to help me, go and fetch some water."

Pod blinked-then-"Oh-yes, my lady. At once, my lady. Thank you, my lady" With another bow, and a small, grateful smile, he scampered off as fast as he could.

"Bless him…" Bronn murmured, grinning.

Next, Brienne turned to Tormund, who was looking at her in admiration. "Thank you for your, er, _kind_ offer. But I assure you that I have no wish to see Ser Jaime dead."

"You sure, my lady? Because I will." Tormund nodded earnestly. "Just say the word and I will have his guts on spikes outside your window-"

"Yes, _thank you_." Brienne felt slightly nauseous. "If I wanted Ser Jaime killed I would have done it myself, I assure you."

" _Wow_ …" Tormund gazed at her in awe. "Right. I'll-I'll be going then." He turned to leave-then looked back over his shoulder. "But if you _ever_ need-"

"I shall inform you at once if I ever want anyone to die horribly, thank you." Brienne gave him a tight smile, finding a large, toothy grin returned to her as Tormund left after Pod.

Now, there was only Bronn.

"I'm not going to offer to kill Jaime for you, don't worry." Bronn winked at her. "Quite like to keep the man who pays me alive. And if you spend enough time with someone you're bound to get attached to them a bit, I guess...Nice to see you without bars between us, hey, my lady?"

"And yourself, Ser Bronn." Brienne smiled, leaning on the doorframe, planning to close it as quickly as she could get rid of him. "They let you out?"

"Well, I might be back _in_ by this afternoon." Bronn rolled his eyes. "Jon Snow and Lady Sansa are discussing now what is to become of myself and Jaime. We are still their prisoners, after all…I'm hoping yesterday may have changed the situation a bit, though."

Brienne frowned. "Surely they won't throw you both back down there?"

Bronn shrugged. "Whatever happens, I'm off for a walk in the snow. I've missed the fresh air-have to get some while I still can. Just wanted to see how you were, my lady. Hanging in there? How's the arm?"

Brienne showed him her large, bulky bandage. "Healing up. Had much worse."

"At least you didn't lose the hand. Heard from someone that's a right pain in the arse." Bronn grinned. "Ah well. Nice to see you, as I said. I'll be going for that walk now." He turned to leave-before suddenly sticking his head into Brienne's chamber, looking directly under her bed. " _Morning, Jaime_!" he called, before sauntering off, chuckling to himself.

Brienne shut the door, leaning heavily on it and sighing with relief. Jaime crawled out from beneath the bed, a grin on his own face. "Doesn't miss a trick, Bronn. Hey, what's wrong?" He walked briskly over to Brienne, who looked most grim. "You just had two men show up at your door, one offering to devote their entire life to serving you, the other offering to kill me if you desired it. What more could you want?" he smiled, putting his arms around her.

"Bronn said Jon and Sansa were talking about what to do with you," she said, shrugging him off and beginning to look for her clothes, which had been abandoned on the floor the previous night. "I must go…What are you still doing here?" she demanded. "Go! Pod will be back any second!"

Jaime looked put out-then smiled. "Alright. I'll see you soon-one way or another."

"Hey-did you do this?" Brienne held up her tunic. There was a small tear, leaving a ragged and noticeable gap in the material.

Jaime grinned awkwardly. "Yeah, that might have been me. Apologies. It was in my way last night..."

Brienne brushed it off. "Alright. At least Pod can make himself useful this morning." She looked straight at Jaime, messy hair falling into his handsome, smiling face. Despite her concern and rush, she could not help her heart glowing. Jaime smiled right back at her. "Goodbye, Jaime…" she murmured, looking at him as if she could never look long enough.

Jaime crossed the room to where she stood, ruined tunic in hand, and kissed her. He lingered as long as he could, before reluctantly breaking it. "Goodbye." he whispered back. "Make sure you get something to eat. I don't think I can bear it if you faint again."

Brienne sighed, still smiling at him. "I do not need to be reminded to do something I have been successfully doing all my life. And I did not _faint_ -I passed out. Due to bloodloss."

"Of course, my lady. Anything you say." Jaime laughed, leaning forward to kiss her again. "Make sure you do. I just want to look after you both." He kissed his hand and rubbed her belly. "I just want to keep you both _safe_ …"

With a last, longing look at her, he quickly turned and left, closing the door behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! It means the world, much love to all of you. Keep doing so! More tomorrow! xxx**

Brienne made her way as quickly as she could to the council room, with Pod scurrying behind her, finding her long strides difficult to keep up with. Though she wanted to show her gratitude to Pod for capturing her enemy, she could not bring herself to slow down at all. The matter in hand was far too urgent. Her mind was racing-she could not imagine that Jon Snow and Lady Sansa would allow Jaime to simply be locked back in those dungeons after what had happened yesterday. But what if they did? Jaime was a prisoner of such value…she did not know what she could do to ensure his freedom. But she had to do something.

"My lady?" Pod called, sounding a little breathless. "Are you sure you ought to be walking so fast? Seeing as you're-I mean, you're-"

"Thank you, Pod," Brienne said, glancing back at him. "But I am perfectly fine."

Pod gave a doubtful look. " _I'm_ not..." he murmured, but he scampered dutifully on. Relenting, Brienne slowed a fraction for him-but before long they had reached the door. Brienne went to raise a hand to knock-then found it bound heavily in bandages. With the other, she banged sharply on the door, and took a step backward.

The door was opened by some squire, a young boy with dark hair and a round face. "My Lord? My Lady?" he called back, his voice unbroken. "It is Lady Brienne."

"Enter." came the brooding tones of Jon Snow.

Brienne nodded to the squire, before striding into the room. Sat around the table, all looking grave, were Jon Snow, Lady Sansa, Samwell Tarly, Tormund, and her father. A large, detailed map of Westeros lay on the table between them, various places marked upon it with pegs. Each of them stood as she entered, followed by a nervous-looking Pod. The men stood for respect, while Sansa gave a gasp, jumping up from her seat and walking as quickly as she could towards Brienne, an anxious expression on her face. But before she reached her, Lord Selwyn had limped over much faster than he ought to have been able to and pulled his daughter into an embrace.

"My love," Lord Selwyn held her tightly. "I am so relieved to see you wakened."

"Father," Brienne leaned into Lord Selwyn's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Far better to see you." Selwyn smiled, squeezing her shoulders. "Come on, you should be here." He began to lead her towards the table-

"Lady Brienne!" Sansa darted in front, took Brienne's hand in both of hers and squeezed it, looking up at her, her voice hushed, as if she was at the sickbed of a dear friend.

"Lady Sansa," Brienne felt a little strange, being greeted in such a way-the way _women_ greeted one another-but she managed to smile. "I trust you are well this mor-"

"Do sit down!" Sansa lead her by the hand to the table, signalling towards the dark-haired squire to pull out a chair. "I could hardly sleep last night for worrying! Is everything okay with the _baby_? I couldn't stand it if anything happened to him!"

Her eyes were so wide and shining Brienne felt a pang of guilt for upsetting her so much. "Please don't worry yourself, Lady Sansa. There is no need-everything is fine."

Sansa gave her a grateful smile of relief. "I simply could not bear it if something awful happened to the _baby_. It would just be so _dreadful_." Her tone seemed to become twelve times sweeter whenever she said " _baby_ ", as if she delighted in the word. She sat down beside Brienne, looking at her as if she was made of extremely fragile glass. It was very peculiar; Brienne's soul was pure granite. A strange thing to be treated as if she was as delicate as spider silk. "…and I simply can't understand why you did not tell me!" Sansa was saying. "Thinking of all those hours you guarded me and you had to keep it to yourself!"

Brienne gave a tight smile, hating the fuss. She was not used to this gentle, feminine attention. She supposed it was her lack of a mother. "I…I am sorry I did not tell you, Lady Sansa. I…I feared that the sooner it was common knowledge, the sooner the danger would show itself…"

"Of course," Lady Sansa nodded understandingly. "To think I spent years longing for a Lannister baby with golden hair…" She looked down for a moment, embarrassed at the memory. "…I never thought of how much danger he would be in…" But as if this thought was not half so important, Sansa smiled again, broadly this time, her voice becoming rushed with excitement. "But now _you_ will have a golden-haired baby! Isn't that wonderful? How long until-?"

"Not now, Sansa," Jon's voice was grave. He looked straight at Brienne, his face set. "Are you certain that this child is the child of the Kingslayer?"

Brienne felt almost insulted. "Yes. There is no doubt."

Selwyn frowned, sitting up straight, his height and breadth obvious even from his chair. He glared at Jon Snow. "If my daughter tells you that the Kingslayer fathered her child, then the Kingslayer fathered her child! I doubt she is capable of a lie!"

Brienne shot daggers at her father, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Jon leaned back in his chair, giving Samwell Tarly a significant look.

Brienne felt strange. She was distinctly aware of Pod hovering at her shoulder, Sansa beside her, looking on enthusiastically, clearly dying to talk about babies. She did not like the expression on Jon's face. But she too turned directly to Samwell Tarly. "What has become of Ser Davos?"

Sam scuffed his feet on the floor. "He…sleeps. Gilly is with him."

"So he's still alive?" Brienne asked, hope rising in her chest. "He survived the night?"

"Yes, but…" Sam stared at the floor. "He is in a terrible way…I-I don't think he will see the sunset…"

Brienne pursed her lips, the bubble of hope bursting. She sighed. "Then we ought to go to him."

"Yes." Jon agreed. "After we have finished this discussion." He was still looking strangely at Brienne But he addressed the whole table. "So it is agreed? Ser Jaime and by extension Ser Bronn will not remain our prisoners."

General agreement around the table. Looking up sharply, Brienne was stunned-she could not believe what she was hearing. "What?" she said aloud.

Lord Selwyn looked at his daughter, a knowing smile on his face. "You are not pleased by this?"

"Well-of _course_ I-I mean…" Brienne was mystified. She was far too worldly to not suspect that something was up. "But why let them go? Jaime Lannister is a valuable prisoner, worth a large ransom from Cersei-that could mean _men_ , Jon! Lots of men! That's why you captured him in the first place!"

"Yes…" Jon nodded. "But that was under Littlefinger's influence. I had no intention then to bother the South -inviting Cersei and her forces up here just seemed like asking for unnecessary trouble, considering what we are dealing with from the North…" He shared a dark look with Tormund. "The crown forces would be a welcome addition to our resistance, but I do not wish to obtain them with ransom and bribery-I want our monarch to truly understand the magnitude of what we are dealing with. We need every lord from every corner of the seven kingdoms to send men to even stand a chance against the army of the dead. Only a royal decree would have that kind of influence…"

Brienne nodded to show she understood, but she frowned. "How do you intend to have Cersei comply? Meaning no offense, but have you _met_ her? She cannot see past her own family-more recently not even past herself. There is no way she would care about something so far away!"

"She will when Winter freezes her in her bed, as it does the common folk." Jon said darkly. A shiver seemed to pass through the room. "But that would be too late."

Brienne blinked. "Then _how_ -?"

Jon was still looking at her strangely. There was a short silence.

"My love," Lord Selwyn reached out to gently touch his daughter's arm. "I-I do not want you to think that this is some kind of conspiracy against you. But you must see that-"

"What are you trying to say?" Brienne could feel those cold fingers beginning to close around her heart. She looked around at the assembled company, who were all looking at her in much the same way Jon was.

"Brienne…" Jon Snow swallowed awkwardly, but he looked her directly in the eyes. "I will speak frankly. Your child is a prince. Your child is heir to the iron throne. If your child was to take the throne, we can protect the world from the terrors beyond the W-"

" _No_!" Brienne suddenly stood up. She looked around in horror at the faces who stared back at her. "You all fought Littlefinger with me to stop exactly this! Will you let Ser Davos Seaworth die in vain?"

"We did not fight to stop your child sitting on the iron throne." said Jon calmly. "We fought to stop Littlefinger getting it." He looked at her, some pity in his eyes. "I know it's difficult, but you really must try and see this from a bigger perspective. The whole of Westeros will be plunged into a night longer than anything we have ever seen before. All the creatures beyond the wall will come, and they will kill and destroy everything and everyone we hold dear. And the only way we can stop them is to assemble a force like nothing the seven kingdoms has ever seen before."

"No one will take your baby away from you," Sansa said, her voice very sweet. "You could never leave his side if that's what you wanted. I know that's what _I'd_ want if I-"

Brienne felt her heart sink to the floor. "Father," she said, turning to Lord Selwyn. She found her voice was trembling. "Father, you cannot be _agreeing_ to this!"

Lord Selwyn looked up at his daughter. His eyes were almost pleading. "My love…oh Brienne, please...consider what Jon is saying. Our descendants, the descendants of House Tarth, would be _kings_ -Your child-a child of _our house_ -could lead the world back into the light! And-"

Brienne felt like screaming. Were they all _insane_? "-No. No he could not. And that is because he is a _child_. Not a king. Not a warrior. _A child_!" She struggled to keep her voice level, but it was beyond her. "I _knew_ it! I knew that as soon as the world knew he existed, he would be in danger! Now you are sending him to the slaughter before he is even born!" Tears welled behind her eyes in fury.

"Oh, little bird…" Lord Selwyn got to his feet and tried to put his arms around her-but she ducked out of his reach.

"Besides, my child could never take the throne!" Brienne played her best card. "He is a _bastard_!"

"He is not a bastard in the eyes of my people." said Tormund suddenly. "You…" He looked slightly regretful. "are Jaime Lannister's woman." Turning from Brienne, he nodded to Jon. "The freefolk will support this child's right."

"I am no one's _woman_ but my own!" Brienne protested bitterly.

"But you love him?" Tormund raised an eyebrow, speaking very bluntly. "You did not let me end him. So you must love him."

Brienne could feel every eye in the room burning into her. "That-that is irrelevant!" She could feel her cheeks flushing.

"Then you are his. He is yours. All that shit." Tormund said with a shrug. "That child is no bastard."

Another short silence.

"As much as Tormund is right," Jon cut in. "it really would be better to legitimise the claim-"

" _No_." Brienne kept her voice as calm and reasonable as she could, but she could not help herself. "I say my child is a bastard, I name him bastard, and he will be a bastard all his life if that is what will protect him from the Iron Throne!"

"Oh, come on, Brienne," Lord Selwyn took his daughter's hand. "Listen to me. This is the best thing, not just for us, but for the whole realm. _Surely_ you cannot be so against marrying Ser Jaime? He practically asked me for your hand whist you were unconscious! Not many highborn ladies are lucky enough to find a husband who genuinely loves them-and I know that despite his faults…the Kingslayer loves you. And I know, my child, from the look in your eyes, that you love him…" Selwyn reached out and took Brienne's hand. "Consider it, little bird. This is right on every level."

"Did Ser Jaime really ask for Lady Brienne's hand because he _loves_ her?" Sansa sat up, looking excited. "I've read about it, but I've never seen it happen before!"

"Jaime, in the literal world, has done no such thing." Brienne said, trying desperately to keep her voice level. "And it could never be so simple! Can you imagine what the queen would do if she found her brother had married? She-"

"-will not be the queen much longer if all goes to plan." Jon interrupted. "With Lord Baelish in our control, we would then have the backing of most of Westeros! There is only Dorne and the Reach outside of the fold, and the Reach is currently in tatters thanks to Cersei destroying the Tyrells and the Dornish despise the queen for what happened to Oberyn Martell!"

"And Theon is on the Iron Islands," Sansa added. "I know he will join us if I ask him to,"

Jon nodded to her, though he did not look sure. "Perhaps. If he got there…but nonetheless, we will have four kingdoms and the Riverlands-"

"And the Reach." Sam suddenly piped up, though he looked a little nervous. "Whatever I have to say about my father, I know he hates Cersei. I am fairly sure I can bring House Tarly into the fold-my mother will support me, and so will my siblings. And perhaps then other houses of the Reach will follow."

Jon looked gratefully at Sam. "Thank you. We need to make plans."

Brienne was beginning to feel as if she was drowning.

"…the northern lords will follow me. I want Baelish, under guard, rally the Riverlands and the Vale-Sansa, perhaps you should go with him. Robin Arryn is your cousin, and we need Edmure Tully too-he is your uncle."

Sansa bit her lip.

"Look, don't worry, you will never have to be alone with him." Jon said to his sister, reaching out to pat her hand. "I'll make sure of it." He turned back to the assembled company, and began to dictate, point out each location on the map as he went. "Lord Selwyn can take the Stormlands, the Kingslayer to Casterly Rock. I am sure he will be agreeable-and if not, there are still plenty of cells we can put him in until he changes his mind. I'm not sure what forces Cersei hasn't depleted, but we need whomever is left. As for the Reach-Sam, you can bring your family in and then return to the Citadel. Alright?"

"Yes." Sam nodded eagerly.

"If all goes to plan, with such a force…" Jon smiled for the first time. "Cersei doesn't stand a chance. And as for the White Walkers…we can certainly give the army of the dead a good kick in the balls. They might even land back on the other side of the Wall, if we're lucky."

Brienne could not breathe.

"Do you see now?" Jon had turned back to Brienne. There was sympathy in his eyes…but his face was set. "I know it's hard. But we need this. The _realm_ needs this."

Brienne looked straight back at him. She found her hands were shaking. "Jon…your plan is well done. It might even work…but…you are forgetting that…Cersei has something we don't."

"What?" Jon frowned.

"Wildfire."

Another silence.

"What chance do we have-even if we had an army of hundreds of thousands of men-against wildfire. Wildfire killed your grandfather, Jon. Wildfire murdered the Tyrells, destroyed the false king Stannis' fleet at the Blackwater, burned half of Kings Landing to the ground." Brienne found her breathing was ragged. "She's used it once, she will use it again-and she will certainly use it if her throne is threatened."

Jon's jaw clenched. Suddenly, he looked exasperated. "For _fuck's_ sake! Who cares who is on the fucking throne when an army of the dead marches from the north? What will Cersei care for her throne when she freezes in her bed?" He buried his face in his hands, then looked up again. "All I care about is that our monarch understands the threat from the north and acts accordingly! Under our guidance-the guidance of everyone here-this child will be able to ensure the protection of the kingdoms-of every man, woman and child who calls Westeros home!"

"So in trying to protect the living from ice, you would throw them into fire?" Brienne hissed.

Jon looked around. He stared at the floor-then back at Brienne. "We have to try." he murmured, clasping his hands together. "We have to try, and I fight for the side of the living. I refuse to let the dead simply walk over us."

With a last, long look, Jon got to his feet. "Sam, I want you to send ravens to every Northern lord, summoning them back here. Tormund, will you please explain to your men what is to happen. I am going to speak to Lord Baelish-Sansa, I would like for you join me, if you wouldn't mind. Ravens must be sent all over the seven kingdoms tonight, under the cover of darkness. And Lord Selwyn-" Jon glanced back over his shoulder. " _Please_ talk to your daughter."

There was a mass scraping of chairs as the company stood, an each began to file from the room, leaving only Brienne and her father.

"Come and see me later," Sansa squeezed Brienne's hand again as she passed, giving her another excited smile. But quickly, she followed Jon from the room, shutting the door behind her, the little squire hot on her heels.

Brienne turned slowly to face Lord Selwyn, who stood behind her. Rage boiled her blood, fear froze her heart.

Oddly enough, Lord Selwyn wore a half-smile on his face. " _Talk to your daughter_ …has Jon Snow ever tried to chance your mind himself?" But quickly, his face became serious. "Little bird, please. You heard what Jon said-this could be the only way to defend the living from the dead. Not to mention the only way to get rid of Cersei. No one is going to take your child from you-gods, they'd have to get through me first…And think of House Tarth! A son of our house on the throne! Don't you want your child to be a _king_ , to be the first in a line of Tarth kings? And you would be the mother of a dynasty!"

Brienne glared at her father. "I want to be the mother of a _living child_. He is as good as dead the moment he poses a threat to Cersei."

Lord Selwyn sighed, putting his hands on Brienne's shoulders. "If this goes to plan the whole of _Westeros_ will back him. Cersei will never be able to touch him, I swear."

"And if it does not, my child will d-"

"I trust Jon Snow." Lord Selwyn stroked her hair, gently brushing it back. "I trust his judgement. I know he is right-we must protect the living from the dead…look." He looked straight into his daughter's ice, the exact same blue as his own. "I swear to you by the old gods and the new that your child will be protected above and beyond what is possible, before and after he takes the throne. And he will have you…" Selwyn smiled proudly at her. "You are the best fighter I have ever seen. You would never let any harm come to him. You are every bit your mother-she was as ferocious and immovable as I know you will be, and already are, when it came to loving her children…" Selwyn looked down for a moment, remembering. "There was nothing she would not have done for you had she lived, and I can see that there is nothing you would not do to keep your child from harm. There is Jaime too-he loves you and that child beyond anything I have ever seen in a man. And there is nothing _I_ would not do to keep _you_ from harm, my love. I swear, your child will be the safest child in all the realm. He will be a king, to help Jon Snow lead the world through Winter. And all you have to do is love him, protect him…and…" Selwyn gave her a sad smile. "marry the man you love."

Brienne soaked up everything her father had just said. Her throat had become choked, her hands weak…

"You do _want_ to marry him, do you not, little bird?" Selwyn cupped Brienne's face in his hands. His smile was still sad, but his eyes shone. "Your child would be king-your future children would be heirs to Casterly Rock and Tarth…I know I cannot force you. You are a grown woman now. But I know…I can see it in your eyes…I know, whatever I think of Jaime Lannister, he loves my little girl and he would never hurt you. He wants to marry you, I know he does, not just for the sake of the child, but because he wants to stay beside you forever. You would be so happy with him, I know you would. And I know…however hard it is for a father to admit, I know you love him." Selwyn looked sorrowful, but still he smiled broadly. "Please. I want you to be happy. I know you will be happy with Jaime Lannister. Just say the word, my love. Say the word."

Brienne looked into her father's face, so sad and so joyful simultaneously. Her heart ached to look at him, to hear him speak of her happiness, to show his love for her on his sleeve. It hurt more than anything to imagine marrying Jaime, being his, and him being hers, forever...

But she gritted her teeth. No. She could not. Images of Tommen flashed before her eyes, imagining his broken body, the crown empty…

With a last, desperate look at her father, she turned around and fled the room.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Please continue to do so, much love to you all!**

 **I must say I found parts of this difficult to write, especially Jaime's description of Brienne-it's hard to remember that Brienne is not supposed to be as completely and utterly beautiful and amazing as Gwendoline Christie! Bit of a crush-a lot of a crush :P**

 **Thank you, more tomorrow! Much love xxx**

" _Afternoon_ ," Bronn, his boots frosted with snow, sloped along the corridor to where Jaime stood, leant against Brienne's chamber door. He had a big smile on his face. "Sleep well?"

Jaime gave a tight smile in return.

Bronn laughed loudly, slapping Jaime on the back. "You old dog! And to think I was going to ask you along to the brothel tonight-no need, hey?"

Jaime snorted. "You're going to the brothel tonight?"

"If I'm still a free man. God I need a woman-been far too long. And _don't_ change the subject." Bronn slid down the wall to sit beside Jaime, who slumped down to join him. He could not help but smile. "Fucking hell, look at his face!" Bronn was chuckling. "No way you're joining me tonight then? Have to ask someone else. Think Podrick will come? Anyway, so you two are now officially fucking- _plural,_ not singular. What a world, hey?"

"Indeed." Jaime looked to his friend, his smile broadening. "And hopefully more even than that."

"Wow!" Bronn whistled low. "She must be good, then."

"I love her."

Bronn did a comedic double-take. " _You love her_?"

"Yes, I do." Jaime folded his arms, looking up at the ceiling. "I really do, Bronn..."

"Oh," Bronn raised an eyebrow, rolling his eyes. "I don't think you caught my sarcasm there. Let me try again." Bronn spread his arms wide, in a huge theatrical gesture. " _You? Love? Her_?" He began to laugh. "Seven hells, Jaime! I could have told you that weeks ago! Of course you love her, you stupid old sod." He dug Jaime hard in the ribs. "I know I'm just a fucking sellsword done good- _very_ good, might I say-but you don't have to be a genius to work that out."

Jaime laughed. It felt so good to laugh now, so free. He could not seem to stop himself smiling. "Alright. You've made your point."

"So have you told her?" Bronn stretched lazily, beginning to kick the snow of his boots. "Women love to hear all that love shit."

"Shut up." Jaime nudged him gently, far too happy to put any force into it. "And no, not yet."

"Well, you should." Bronn said, brushing snow away. "Because if I know women, she loves you too. Don't know why. Can't be your looks, you ugly fucker."

Jaime snorted. "Of course not." But he looked at Bronn. "You think she does?"

"What are we, giggling young girls talking about the local blacksmith's boy? _Do you think he likes me_?" Bronn put on a high pitched, mocking voice. "I'm telling you, she loves you. The way she looks at you is frankly irritating."

Jaime felt a strange excitement building in his heart. Something he had never known before. The only woman he had ever loved before was his sister, and he could never have married her…but Brienne…

"I'm going to marry her."

Bronn raised his eyebrows. "Does she know that yet?"

"Well, no," Jaime admitted. His smile still spread wider as he felt that his whole being was glowing. "But I'm going to. I'm going to tell her I love her the very next time I see her. Then, I'm going, probably in full armour, to ask her father for her hand."

Bronn stared for a second. Then, slowly, he applauded. "Very noble. How fucking romantic."

"Do you think so?"

" _I_ don't fucking know!" Bronn suddenly looked more serious. "And what do you think your sister will have to say about this? Something tells me she won't like it very much…"

Jaime paused, his face falling a little. But still-nothing could spoil his mood today. He did not want to think about Cersei, or about anything else except Brienne and their child. Last night had been nothing short of magic. Holding her again, her skin so firm over her muscles, her wide, carved shoulders, her endless, perfect legs, her porcelain skin…and those _astonishing eyes_ …She was not what one would draw if one was asked to paint a beautiful woman…but to Jaime, it was as if since he had fallen for her, everything about her was beautified. Now, he could never look at her enough. He wondered also whether it was the child inside her, the soft curve of her belly…he was determined to marry her. It was as if he would be incomplete without her, as if he could never rest until he had made her his, and he hers. And to wake up beside her, to hear her laugh first thing in the morning…it was all he could need.

"I will find a way."

* * *

Brienne did not stop. She walked as quickly as she could through the halls of Winterfell once again-but this time, she was not looking for a room. She was looking for a man.

Finally, she arrived back at the corridor which held her chamber, and sure enough, sat outside the door, Jaime and Bronn sat on the cold, stone floor, leant against the wall. They had been talking-but Jaime immediately sprang to his feet upon seeing Brienne. "Brienne!" His face lit up "I have something to t-"

"Have you spoken to Jon Snow?" Brienne cut across him, sounding breathless. "Do you know what they're planning?"

"Er, no?" Jaime frowned, confused, and looking a little put-out.

Brienne marched straight up to him, ignoring Bronn. "They're going to try to put our child on the Iron Throne! Jon, my father-" She paused, noticing his face. "Why don't you look surprised?" she asked desperately, her eyes wide.

Jaime looked down at the floor, then stepped forward. "Your father…might have mentioned it yesterday. When you were sleeping."

"And you didn't think to tell me!" Brienne was outraged-but quickly, she controlled herself. She could feel herself growing hot, her voice shaking. "I am not going to let this happen. _We_ can't let this happen! You know Cersei better than anyone-our baby is _dead_ the moment she hears that the kingdoms are rising against her! He'll die, Jaime, I know he will…" Tears threatened behind her eyes-and this time she could not hold them back.

"Oh Brienne…" Jaime let her fall into his arms, holding her tightly. "There now…" he murmured, stroking her hair. "Don't cry, _please_ , I can't bear it…"

"How can my father think that this is a good idea?" Brienne swallowed hard, leaning into his shoulder. "How can he send his grandchild to the slaughter?"

Jaime shook his head. "I…I know he doesn't see it like that…you can't hate him for it."

"I _don't,_ of course not…" Brienne blinked furiously. "I…I just can't bear the thought of our baby d…" She could not bring herself to say it again. The thought was far too horrific, too catastrophic to even comprehend that someone would kill her child...

Jaime held her close. "I know…I know…neither can I…" His own voice sounded thick. But he carried on manfully. "They're trying to do what is best for the realm. Our child has the strongest claim to the throne in deposing Cersei…they know that between us we can rally almost all of the seven kingdoms. All they want is to do the right thing."

"They can do it _without_ our baby…" Brienne's voice sounded weaker than she had ever heard it before. Tears began to fall again. "There _must_ be another way…"

"There now…" Jaime gently brushed away her tears. His face had become tight. "When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die…" he whispered to her. "That chair killed my whole family. My father, my children...and it has destroyed my sister…I swore to your father that I would never let my child sit on that throne."

"Yes!"

"Brienne…" Jaime looked straight at her, his hand buried in her hair. Fiercely, he kissed her, his lips desperate and yet somehow sure. He looked seriously into her eyes. "Let me take your away from here. It's not safe anywhere. We'll leave tonight. I will take you to White Harbour and we will sail for Pentos. We will live there-where no one knows us, where our baby can be safe. I don't care if we never see Westeros again-I would leave all of it behind and take you as far away as possible, far from Cersei, far from everything. Our baby will be safe, no one can touch him, or use him, or put him on any throne of death. I swear to you, Brienne. I swear it. _I love you_."

Brienne felt her heart catch in her throat. A shiver ran through her entire body-but it was of warmth, like golden sunlight, or a warm ocean, as intense as a storm, thunder and lightning, as gentle as the softest breeze or grass around her ankles. She looked almost in disbelief at Jaime…but he had said it. It was true. It was true.

"I _love_ you, Brienne…" Jaime said again, as if he could never say it enough. "Come with me. Let me take you and our baby to safety. I will love you both as long as I live. Let me take you to Pentos, far away from this mess." He kissed her again, a rush a passion, a grip of the hand. Brienne felt herself melting into him, as if they were being bound together. "I love you." he whispered into her skin, and she felt his words settle deep beneath it. "Come with me."

As if there was any other answer, Brienne kissed him, as if she could never get close enough. " _I love you_." she whispered to him, and she felt him sink into her arms.

"It's all going to be perfect, I promise." Jaime whispered, holding her so tightly she was unsure where he ended and she began. "It's going to be-oh, what do words matter? Gods, I love you…" Jaime kissed her, so powerfully he almost lifted her off the floor…

"Er…my lady?"

Instantly, Brienne broke away from Jaime. Standing at the other end of the corridor, and looking as if he had just walked in on something obscene, was Pod.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Pod!" Suddenly, Bronn spoke, sounding exasperated. Brienne jumped-she had forgotten he was even there. "What do you want? I was enjoying that! What a performance! I was so moved I almost fucking cried."

"Shut up, Bronn!" Jaime glared at him, looking embarrassed. But he turned to Pod, who was now looking terrified. "What do you want, Pod?"

Pod stammered a little, wringing his hands together. "It's-it's just-Jon just got a raven."

" _So_?" Jaime frowned. "What does that have to do with us?"

"From-from _Cersei_."

* * *

" _For the Bastard Jon Snow,_

 _Upon writing to Castle Black to request reinforcements for the crown from the overstaffed Night's Watch, it came to my attention that you have in fact taken Winterfell from my ally, House Bolton. It is wholly perverse for a traitor's bastard to hold a major stronghold, and I shall be sending a new Warden of the North of my choosing to take Winterfell back for the crown. You would be wise to comply, and upon your doing so I will allow you to remain alive provided that you return to your place at Castle Black. Should you or any other Northern house attempt to resist, I swear you will burn. I shall melt all of the snow in the north if I have to. But you will burn._

 _Please ensure that your once brothers at Castle Black send me their best men. Good men should not waste away at the Wall, which is perfectly capable of protecting the realm in itself, when they can be put to good use protecting the crown. Should my demands not be met, then I will burn every man and boy in the watch._

 _Lastly, I have heard rumours that the murderer Sansa Stark, your half-sister, is alive and well in the North. This woman committed high treason poisoning her king, my son Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name, at his own wedding. If you are found to be hiding her when my replacement Warden arrives, then it is simple-you will burn with her._

 _My terms are clear, bastard. Heed or burn._

 _Sincerely, Her Grace Queen Cersei, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the-"_

"Yes, Sam, we get the picture!" snapped Jon impatiently as he paced up and down.

Sam put down the letter. His hand shook.

Around the room, there was silence. Lady Sansa, sat at the head of the table, looked as if she was about to burst into tears. Tormund looked furious, drumming his fist on his thigh, while Lord Selwyn stood behind his seat, staring intently at Jon Snow. Brienne, sat beside him, had turned ghostly white. Behind her, Pod and even Bronn looked grave.

Jaime marched over to Sam, ripping the letter from his hands. He scanned it, noting the handwriting. It was as if it had been written in a frenzy, the ink smudged where it had not quite dried before it was sent. "She doesn't write like she used to…it's all over the place…it's so… _mad_ …" A pang in his gut. "She's mad. She's gone completely mad…" he whispered.

" _Overstaffed Night's Watch_?" Sam gaped at the letter. "Castle Black can barely support itself! And Winter is coming!"

"Winter is not just coming. Winter is here…" Jon murmured. "We _cannot_ have her on the throne through the Long Night…" He looked desperately at Brienne, who was as pale as the snow on the windowpane. " _Now_ do you see?"

Brienne said nothing. She looked at Jaime, her eyes clouded over. He felt his heart sinking so far that it must surely drown. As he looked at her, he thought of everything he had promised her only minutes ago. Pentos, safety, leaving Westeros behind…

"She knows I'm here," Sansa whispered fearfully. "She knows-"

"No, Sansa, she doesn't for sure." Jon said, reaching over to pat his sister comfortingly. But he did not look sure. "But…we need to make plans. We need to make plans right now…" He looked at the map, still spread across the table. He buried his face in his hands. "Oh, for fuck's sake…" he murmured. Suddenly, Jon Snow did not look like a leader, the son of a lord, a man who had literally been to hell and back. He looked like a lost child.

Jaime looked at Jon, who so abruptly looked so helpless. He looked at Lady Sansa, tears in her eyes, fear in her heart. Painfully, he remembered his oath to Lady Catelyn to keep her daughters safe. He turned to Lord Selwyn, who had eyes only for his daughter. Brienne. Brienne was staring right back at him.

His eyes swivelled back to the letter. Mad writing for a mad queen. _Burn…burn…burn…_

Slowly, Jaime walked over to Brienne. He looked at Lord Selwyn, who looked back and nodded to him. Gently, he placed a hand on Brienne's shoulder, leaning in close to her. So softly, he kissed her cheek, whispering once again so only she could hear. " _I love you_ …" Then-his face was set. "We have to do this. I'm sorry, Brienne. We _have_ to depose Cersei. We have to stay here. We have to save the realm. We have to… _we have to make our child king_ …"

There was a silence. The thickest, densest silence anyone had ever know.

Slowly, a tear spilled down Brienne's cheek. She looked at Lady Sansa, at Jon Snow, to her father, to Jaime. He could hardly bear to look at her.

But, finally…she nodded once.

It was as if a sigh of relief had passed through the entire room. Sansa looked at Brienne as if regarding a hero. Jon looked up from his hands, the ghost of a smile on his face. Lord Selwyn leaned over and kissed his daughter's cheek. " _I'm so proud of you, little bird_." But Brienne seemed immune to it all. Her arms had folded themselves protectively over her belly, her eyes wide and staring, but they stared blankly. Whatever she was seeing was going on only inside her own head…

"Perhaps Lady Brienne…ought to rest," Jon said tactfully. "Sansa, perhaps you could-"

"Yes!" Sansa stood up right away, walking over and taking Brienne's arm. "Come on, Lady Brienne. We'll go to my chamber. Podrick, come with us."

"Yes, my lady. Of course." Pod scampered over, standing to attention as Sansa began to lead Brienne from the room. As if all of her energy had been drained from her, Brienne followed, looking as if she had shrunk into herself. It almost destroyed Jaime to watch her. But he did, watching her leave until Pod had closed the door behind them.

Jon looked over to Jaime. " _Thank you_. I know that must have been difficult." There was something almost like admiration behind his eyes.

Stiffly, Jaime nodded. "You've no idea…" He could see Lord Selwyn out of the corner of his eye, who was regarding Jaime with something that was almost close to…respect. He looked straight at the old lord and offered him a stiff smile. "It had to be done."

"That's right." Lord Selwyn agreed. "It had to be done."

Jaime sat down at the table. He looked straight at Jon Snow. "So what now?"

Jon pursed his lips. He stood up, and leaned over the map, beginning to rip out the original pegs. "We plan."

* * *

Brienne felt as if she was lying on the ocean floor, the weight and pressure of the ocean crushing her lungs as she slowly drowned…but here she sat. On a chair made of wood and red fabric in Lady Sansa's chamber. She felt so weak, so powerless. She was vaguely aware of Pod behind them, guarding the door. In front of her, Lady Sansa herself sat, on the edge of her bed, chatting very fast and very softly.

"…so when did you find out? Oh, was it wonderful? I always imagined finding out I was pregnant, telling my husband and he'd hold me close and cry with joy and kiss me…" Sansa's eyes became dreamy for a moment, before shooting back to Brienne. "Is it wonderful to know that you're going to have a baby? _When_ will you have it? It can't be very soon, I can only just see-has he kicked yet? Oh that would be so _wonderful_ -do you think that it will be a boy? I hope it is a boy-I suppose Ser Jaime and your father are hoping for a boy! What will you name him? I know what I'd name _my_ son- _Eddard_ , little Ned, for my father, and if I had another _Brandon_ or _Benjen_ for my uncles. Will you name him _Selwyn_? I'm not sure I like that name very much. It sounds like an old man, not a _baby_. Perhaps for Jaime's father, _Tywin_? No, I don't like that name either…How about _Jaime_ itself? I _do_ like that name, it's so sweet. But it doesn't sound like a king. Then again, which name does before it belongs to a king?"

Sansa paused for breath, grinning. "It's so nice to have a _lady_ to talk to. I mean-I know you were always a lady and you've been here all this time-but now it really feels like it! What if your baby is a girl? What will you name her? I know I'd name my daughter _Catelyn_ , and if I had another _Lyanna_ , for my aunt. What was your mother's name? Or Jaime's mother- _Joanna_ , was it not? That's such a pretty name. I think Jaime would like that. But I think-" Sansa gave a knowing smile, leaning forward. " _I think it will be a boy_. I just have a feeling that you will have a son! Isn't it _wonderful_? A strong, healthy boy! Don't you think that…"

Brienne watched her talk more than listened. It was so great to see Lady Sansa smiling, talking so animatedly. But Brienne almost could not bear to listen. Her hopefulness, her little-girl's vision of motherhood, as if she was still playing with dolls, was so painful to hear. Brienne could think only of fire, of Cersei, of the Iron Throne and its dozens of swords…

"…I've heard it's the most painful thing in the world. My mother did it five times and every time she screamed and screamed…I remember the servants had to throw out the furs from her bed, they were soaked in so much blood after she gave birth to Bran. But I know it's all worth it in the…"

Brienne started a little as she remembered this essential part of having a child-giving birth. A shiver ran up her spine as she remembered that her own mother had died on the childbed giving birth to her youngest sister, who had herself died soon thereafter. So had Jaime's, after she had given birth to the Imp…whom the throne had also probably killed by now, wherever he was...

"…and he will have golden hair and blue eyes! Maybe it will curl-that would be so _sweet_. That's how I imagined my child when I thought I would marry Joffrey…" Sansa shook her head a little. "I suppose that's what my children with Lord Tyrion would have looked like too…but now you will have a Lannister baby! A little lion with a mane of golden curls…Lady Brienne?"

Suddenly, at being addressed, Brienne was brought out of her thoughts. "Yes, my lady?" she said quickly.

Sansa was looking at her, pity and admiration in her eyes. "I know you must feel awful. But you're doing the right thing." She reached out and took Brienne's hand in her own. The warmth of Sansa's little hands almost brought tears to her eyes all over again. "You're doing the right thing for the realm."

Brienne nodded vaguely. She could not stop thinking about Tommen, imagining his fall…

"Shall I brush your hair?" Lady Sansa suddenly sprang to her feet, darting over to her dressing table for her hairbrush. "I find it always relaxes me, to have someone else brush my hair…" She ran her fingers through Brienne's mop of short, yellow hair, letting it slide through her fingers. "You know, it would be so pretty if you grew it out…but I suppose I like it short too…It's…unique." Slowly, so gently, Sansa began to run the brush through Brienne's hair.

A strange sensation came over her. Brienne had not had her hair brushed like this since she was a little girl, when her nursery maid had forced her to keep it long, before she had shaved it all off herself with her father's razor. She remembered the affairs as something painful, something she wanted to get over with as quickly as possible…but now, Sansa's gentleness and light touch, the soft bristles of the brush, the quiet sweep…there was a kind of tranquillity.

"There," Sansa sounded pleased with herself. "Better?"

Brienne could not speak. She thought of Sansa, how she had sworn to Catelyn to protect her, how Cersei had threatened her with fire…once again, she gave a single nod, finding some sort of strength had begun to rekindle itself inside her.

* * *

"Coming out?" Bronn called to the assembled company as they left the council room. It was long since dark, the sky outside starless in the thick clouds. "Anyone?"

"Where?" Jon asked. His hair was even wilder than usual, as if he had been running his hands through it.

"Tavern?" Bronn looked backward and winked. "Brothel?"

"Oh." said Jon, sounding disappointed. "No."

"Suit yourself." Bronn looked round. "Tormund?"

"No." Tormund said, looking at Jon. "I will hold the fort tonight. It is time you got a good night's sleep."

"Not fucking likely…" Jon muttered. "You'll have a drink with me first, won't you? Gods I need it…"

"Of course I will." Tormund smiled, looking more enthusiastic. "I have some fermented milk I have been saving…"

"Disgusting." Bronn rolled his eyes. "I'll stick to ale. Gathered _you're_ not coming, Jaime. I'm going to find Pod, then. He might be good fun when he's drunk enough..."

"I'll come." Lord Selwyn said suddenly.

Bronn whipped around in amazement. "My Lord?"

"Yes." Selwyn stretched. "I need a woman…heard there are none like the Northern girls…" He turned to face Jaime. "Take care of my daughter, won't you?"

"Of course." Jaime said, giving a small bow, though he did not know why.

"Give her my love. Right!" Lord Selwyn turned to Bronn. "Lead the way."

"As you wish, m'lord." Bronn looked a little surprised at his _drinking-and-whoring_ companion, but not displeased as they began to walk away, in the direction of Winterfell's gates. "Hope you don't mind singing. I sing _a lot._ Especially when I'm pissed…"

Jaime watched them leave. Then, he turned to Jon Snow.

Jon looked exhausted. There were bags beneath his eyes, and he looked as if he could barely keep his eyes open. "Look…just find that little squire boy. Get him to find you a room. Tormund, with me." Jon strode quickly off, rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

Before he followed suit-Tormund turned to Jaime. "I know you will not look for that squire." He squared up to Jaime, glaring down at him. "When you go to Lady Brienne, you had better behave like a fucking man and not a boy. For if you hurt her…I know how to leave no trace…" With that, and a final snarl, Tormund whipped his cloak and chased after Jon's retreating back.

Jaime had never sprinted so fast as he did then. He dashed across corridors, skirted around corners, and tool the stairs two at a time until finally…he knocked on Brienne's chamber. The moment the door swung open-Brienne fell into his arms.

"Oh Brienne…" he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry…I wish I could take you to Pentos…but-"

"-I know." whispered Brienne, her voice barely audible. "We must…stop Cersei...protect Lady Sansa…protect the realm…"

"Yes…" Jaime kissed her, closing his eyes tightly. "I'm so sorry..." Reaching down, his hand found the small swelling of her belly. "I have sworn my sword to you, my Brienne, and I have sworn my love. Now, I will again swear that I will do everything in my power-and out of it-to protect our baby…"

"I know…I swear it too…" she whispered. Her voice was sweeter than wine to him, as he kissed her again. "I…I love you, Jaime."

"I know." Jaime held her as tightly as he could. "I know… _Gods_ , I love you…"

Silently, Brienne closed the door to her chamber behind them. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as she kissed him again and again…they were kisses of loss, of fear, of desperation…of gratefulness to be alive, and to be together. Jaime felt as though the world had ended as the sun went down, and when it rose again, a new, frightening, world would be in its place. A world where a war was coming, where nothing was certain…where he would put another child on the Iron Throne…He made love to her again that night. It was as desperate as each kiss, filled with the longing for another world where they could escape everything to the bright sun of Pentos, where their child could play and laugh on the warm sand, where they could live peacefully…but it could not be. And when Brienne, exhausted, fell asleep in his arms, her eyelashes clotted with tears, Jaime watched over her until the sun rose, before sleep finally claimed him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Please don't forget keep doing so! Much love, more tomorrow xxx**

 **Cheeky hint: Again, to paraphrase the Starks, Cersei's new warden of the north is coming...**

Over the next month, many changes were made at Winterfell. Defences were reinforced, wood and supplies were collected, and Jon's plans began to fall into motion. Though the snow fell ever heavier, it was with new determination that the men of Winterfell worked, making ready for the wars to come. It wasn't long until men began to arrive from other great northern houses-Karstark, Umber, Glover, even Manderly, each lord or acting lord from those houses whose leaders had been killed fighting for Ramsay Bolton desperate to prove their loyalty to Jon and House Stark. Only yesterday, forty men had arrived from Bear Island, having been sent by their formidable lady, to help Jon's cause, the nature of which was carefully concealed in fast ravens. It was as if, piece by piece, the whole of the North was rising up against the queen, and ultimately against what was coming from beyond the Wall.

After persuasion from Lady Sansa and threat from Jon, Littlefinger had finally been allowed out of his cell. He slept in a chamber befitting a lord, under heavy guard day and night. Sansa had patiently answered Robin Arryn's letter asking what had become of his beloved Uncle Petyr, telling him something just shy of the truth, and her words seemed to have pacified the young lord. But he would be reunited with his stepfather soon whatever happened. For Jon's plan was simple-to sweep the land and bring the full force of the army he collected down on Kings Landing. At first he had intended to march in an anti-clockwise movement, picking up armies as he went and so arrive at Kings Landing in full force, but that would take perhaps close to a year, and Queen Cersei would certainly be quickly aware of an army like nothing the world had ever seen moving towards her. So, Jon had decided, it would have to be a pincer movement. Next week, Sam, along with a small force, would sail down to the Reach to begin gathering forces there, and a few days after that…Selwyn would depart for the Stormlands, while Jaime would ride for the Westerlands. A gradual trickle southward, so great movements from the North would hopefully go fairly unnoticed as anything beyond ordinary business. Finally, Jon would gather his forces and begin the journey southwards, collecting the Vale and the Riverlands as he rode, before all would assemble at Harrenhal, which Littlefinger had "generously donated" to the cause, before beginning the march on King's Landing.

The whole plan was supposed to fall into place just after the birth of the child. Brienne would have to endure months of separation from Jaime before they would meet again at Harrenhal, where their child was scheduled to be born...

Brienne felt like a ragdoll. Her name was thrown around in meetings, but she had long since stopped sitting in on them. She kept herself vaguely aware of the plans laid, but could not bring herself to sit in on them. To her, it would seem as if she agreed to them. And she did _not_. She simply drifted along. There were not even her duties any more to keep herself busy and focused-it had been agreed, without her knowledge, that Brienne would no longer guard Lady Sansa, nor take turns on the watch, nor do anything much at all. Without her armour to put on each morning, she felt strangely incomplete, as if she was always leaving something behind. She was allowed to keep Oathkeeper beside her, but she could no longer take Pod out for training. Pod had taken on most of her posts himself, his confidence at an all-time high since his victory against Littlefinger.

And as for the child…he seemed to be treated less and less as hers, and more and more like…a vessel. A vessel for everyone's hopes and dreams, spoken of as an adult, a future king, rather than the babe he was. She had only to wince, and whoever was with her would run for help, as they had been instructed by Jon-this child was to be kept alive at all costs. She was now guarded, night and day, something she had never experienced. She was always the guard, not the guarded, the sworn, not the sworn to. It did not suit her. It did not suit her at all.

The only wonderful thing was spending every night in Jaime's arms…but now, Brienne remembered the reality of living with Jaime on a day in, day out basis. Her memories of him during their separations had been incredibly rose-tinted. She had forgotten his pride, how privileged and pampered he could act, his superiority complex when it came to those of lower rank than he, his refusal to ever be wrong, his nasty habits she had loathed on the road that love had blinded her to…it seemed the removal of his hand had served to humble him a little, but sometimes his upbringing showed through…But nonetheless…living with Jaime at Winterfell had been nothing short of _glorious_ …

She sat now, staring uselessly out of the window, watching the snow fall on the stables, the horses stamping in the cold. Before them, in the courtyard, Pod and Jaime duelled, watched by Bronn, who sat on a bale of hay. Jaime trained Pod now-with his remaining left hand, they were reasonably well matched. Coached by Bronn, they parried back and forth. A huge smile was spread across Jaime's face-he could not be more pleased to be sparring again. Pod laughed too as he tripped over his own feet, while Bronn berated him mercilessly. The sellsword marched up to him, pretending to correct his footwork-before pushing him down into the snow while his guard was down, making Pod fall comically on his arse.

Brienne sighed heavily. She would have given _anything_ to join them, to do something other than sit and be guarded. She folded her hands over her belly, now grown enough that her pregnancy was unmistakeable, aware of the Winterfell guard who stood only feet behind her. Though she appreciated the protection for the sake of her child-it was suffocating. That the baby had gone from bastard of a kingslayer to pure gold overnight and it had shocked her. And being treated like fragile glass had never suited her.

She turned back to the window, watching Jaime bantering with Bronn, before turning his sword back to Pod and beginning to spar again. What she wouldn't give to have a sword in her hand again, to train with Pod, to get knocked down, to feel her muscles work, to have her mind so focused…A tiny nudge, from the inside out, so small and yet…Brienne felt the cold of her heart melt a little as her baby reminded her that he was there, moving inside her, alive and strong…but so weak. The baby, capable only of tiny nudges like feathers, was supposed to rule a kingdom, to keep the living from the claws of the dead…every move he made had the strength to change Brienne's world, but the real world, full of fighting men, of blades and fire? She wrapped her hands tighter around her belly, wishing that she could simply hide him from the world, from politics and power, from fire and ice…

"Is something wrong, my lady?" the guard asked. His face was round and shiny, his hair dark, his heavy Northern accent had a light tone. Perhaps he was five-and-twenty years old. Brienne rolled her eyes a little-she hadn't realised he had been watching her so closely. Then again, she supposed, they all did.

"Fine, thank you." she replied, barely keeping her voice polite. She could not blame him for being cautious-this was probably the most important job he'd ever been given.

"Just making sure." the young guard said, leaning on his hip. "I'd never forgive meself if something happened to you on my watch! I was telling my other half in bed last night-guarding you means that I'm practically kingsguard, right?"

Brienne gave a tight smile.

"Told me not to be so silly, of course. But I sort of am, I said-that's a king I'm guarding! But he wouldn't have any of it. That's men for you-they never can stand to bested!" the guard laughed. "I bet you've had your share of that with the Kingslayer!"

Brienne could not help it. The guard's enthusiasm was almost infectious. "No. He knows I'm better."

The guard laughed yet louder, showing a lot of straight, white teeth. "My lady! Well, that's put him in his place, hasn't it?"

Brienne smiled for real, turning to look at him. "I really am fine. It's…it's just hard to watch…" She looked out of the window, to where Bronn was now showing Pod how to best a taller man. Bronn did not fight with honour-but he certainly fought well.

"I know, my lady." The guard nodded sympathetically. "It must be difficult. I have no doubt you'd knock them all into the snow given half the chance!"

Brienne almost smiled. "You are most kind."

"Ah, no. I don't believe in underestimating anyone," The guard shook his head, that contagious smile still in place. "I mean, look at me! Here I am, a massive swordswallower like me from the arse end of nowhere, guarding the future king!"

Brienne spluttered a little, looking up at him in amazement.

"I don't know why _you're_ so shocked, my lady. You served Renly Baratheon, did you not?" The guard gave a cheeky grin.

Brienne did not quite know what to say. Usually, she would rush to Renly's defence. But this wasn't an insult. Not coming from this guard, anyway. To her surprise, she managed a smile.

" _There_ now, my lady. It's nice to see you look a little happier. No-you should never underestimate anyone. I'm living proof! I promise you're safe with me. And this isn't forever-you'll be back to the sword in no time." He coughed a little. "Only I suppose that will be in King's Landing now…"

Brienne felt a chill creep back into her heart. But she looked back up at the smiling guard. Somehow, he made her feel safer. She did not know whether it was his sharing personal information so freely, but it was almost as if she trusted him.

"What was your name?"

"Denys, my lady."

"Denys…" She mentally took note. "I should like to keep you."

Denys' chubby cheeks glowed pink with pride. "Of course, my lady. Better than freezing out there in the cold isn't it? Good thing Jon Snow wants the future king kept warm!" He indicated the roaring fire cheerfully. "Gods, I've never known a child wrapped so tightly in wool-and he is not even born yet!"

Brienne smiled. She was happy for him to burble on-his light, northern tones were most comforting, his round face so friendly. Her hands were still wrapped tightly around her round belly, but she found she had loosened her grip a little. Another nudge, in the same place as last time…her heart glowed.

"Brienne?" A voice from behind, thick as if he had a cold. Jaime Lannister strode in, his cheeks rosy from the cold, flakes of snow still woven into his hair. He smiled broadly, hurrying toward her and throwing his arms around her. He was still freezing cold, but Brienne did not care, leaning into his chest. "How are you?" he asked, kissing the top of her head. "I have to go and meet with Jon Snow in a moment-just couldn't pass up an opportunity to see you."

"Fine." she lied through her teeth. "Just missing the swords, that's all."

"Oh…" Jaime shook his head. "Sorry …but it's for a good cause." He rubbed her belly gently. "Not long and you'll be able to teach him…"

Brienne gave a small shrug. "I can only hope…"

"Hey, hey!" Jaime gently lifted her chin up, frowning suddenly. "I know that face. And you can't think like that, Brienne. You can't."

Brienne bit her lip. "I can't help it…"

"I know…" Jaime murmured, stroking her hair. "But you must try and be positive. In a few months, he'll be in our arms…think about that, hey?"

Brienne still did not look sure. She leaned into Jaime's chest, feeling his heart thumping beneath his tunic. "I hope so…" she murmured.

"Gods, Brienne, what can I say to make you happy?" he sighed. Then, he squeezed her shoulder. "Hey- _I love you_."

"You know you can't get out of everything by saying that?"

"Usually can." Jaime grinned. "But you're right. You shouldn't be cooped up in here so much…let me take you for a walk tonight. Just us. No…" He smiled apologetically at Denys. "bloody guards."

Brienne nodded. "I'd like that."

"Good." Jaime kissed her once more. "I'll see you then. Just before sunset." He turned for the door and strode purposefully from it. Pausing, he turned around again, his slightly crinkled smile still in place. "I love you."

"I…love you too."

* * *

"…and then when the baby is born, you must take him up here to see me!" Sansa was saying, squeezing Brienne's hands. "I know it will be difficult, since he will be king, but you really must! I can't _wait_ to see him! Have you thought any more about his name yet? I still think that you should think about the Targaryen names-they are so _noble_ for a king."

"Yes, Lady Sansa." Brienne said, still wholly unused to the fluffy world Sansa seemed to enter whenever she talked about the baby. "Of course." She was aware of Denys standing behind them, knowing that he would be cringing on her behalf.

"I wish you wouldn't still be so formal. There is no need, I keep telling you!" Sansa stood up as tall as she could to kiss Brienne's cheek. "You are family now."

Brienne felt her cheeks flush. " _Thank you_ , my lady."

"I guess we are literally family, if you think about it…" said Sansa, frowning a little. "Since I was married to Lord Tyrion, and you are…not yet married to Ser Jaime…"

Brienne bit her lip. " _Not_ married, Lady Sansa."

"Yes, but it is only a matter of time!" Sansa smiled excitedly. "Jon says you will have to get married soon, so that the baby is legitimate. Oh, _will_ you let me make you a dress?"

Brienne felt a cold shiver pass through her whole body.

"Anyway, where are you going tonight?"

"Just…just walking…"

Suddenly, Sansa gave a squeal, gripping her hands tighter than ever. "A walk? At sunset? Oh Brienne, he's going to _propose_!"

Brienne's heart began to race. She felt sick as she looked down into Sansa's elated eyes. "N-no. I don't think so…"

"Of _course_ he is!" Sansa was practically bouncing up and down. "Oh, how _romantic_. I've never known anyone marry for love before! Well, I suppose you have to, really, for the sake of the _baby_ , but still! Oh, I hope the wedding is soon, I so want to be there! I suppose you keep the new gods-they do have the nicer ceremony… _please_ let me make your dress! I promise it will be beautiful."

Brienne felt a lump rising in her throat. "…I…I'm sure it would be, Lady Sansa…"

* * *

The evening was absolute freezing. The sky was a greyish pink as the sun set on the mountains in the distance and every tree was a black silhouette, rising crookedly as far as the eye could see until the snow on the ground met the strange, bluish clouds. It was so cold that even the horses had been taken pity upon, and were allowed to spend the night in a barn that had been emptied temporarily of the supplies it once held. Ramsay's hounds still howled bitterly, even though each was now wrapped in the blankets Sansa had made for them, seeming to answer the calls of the wild dogs far away in the wolfswood. Not a single bird flew in the sky-every one of them was hiding from the cold air. But there was still a strange, haunting beauty to the landscape, as Brienne looked out on it from the battlements of Winterfell, pulling Jaime's scarlet cloak tighter around her shoulders.

"Seven hells, I hate the north," Jaime grumbled, leaning on the stone wall. "Can't wait to go back south."

Brienne shivered slightly. "There is nothing but danger in the south."

"There is nothing but danger here." Jaime gestured vaguely in the distance. "Jon has told us what is coming."

A short silence.

"Gods, I wish I could take you to Pentos…" Jaime murmured, reaching out to take her hand in his. "Not only is it safe, but it's bloody warm…I don't know how the Starks stand it. I suppose they're used to it, though…" He looked over the landscape again. "It's so barren and cold… _why_ Lady Sansa is so desperate to be wardeness of it, I'll never know…"

"It is her birthright." said Brienne shortly.

"You've been spending a lot of time with her, haven't you?"

Brienne nodded. "She is…a sweet child."

"Yes…" Jaime squeezed her hand. "I suppose she does nothing but talk about the baby?"

Brienne shook her head. "She does not."

Jaime smiled. "Even Cersei was the same at Lady Sansa's age. All she wanted was a baby…and a husband…"

"Robert Baratheon?"

"No!" Jaime laughed. "Gods no. Rhaegar Targaryen, it was then…"

Brienne was not surprised. "Yes. The last dragon…"

"Every lord in the seven kingdoms wanted their daughter to marry him…but even Tywin Lannister's child was not good enough. I suppose you were too young to remember much of the Mad King, or the Targaryens at all…anyway, you were hidden far away on Tarth…"

"Yes. I don't remember anything."

"Rhaegar…" Jaime paused, looking up at the sky. "Rhaegar…was a good man-"

"Except he kidnapped Lyanna Stark and started a war which killed thousands because of it." Brienne snapped.

"-yes, yes…" Jaime nodded. "I know. But…the Rhaegar _I_ knew…before the war…he loved to sing. Beautiful voice, he had. Like nothing I'd ever heard. He'd go out onto the streets in disguise even, and just sing-see what coins he could collect. Not that he needed them…he'd give them away, to beggar children, usually. Or he'd drink it." Jaime smiled. "He'd have been a _good_ king. He would have been…but _love_ …it can do…irrational things to a man…things he'd never dream of doing in his right mind…"

Brienne held the cloak tightly around her shoulders as a strong gust of wind hit. Noticing, Jaime put his arms around her. "I bet it's beautiful in bloody Pentos…my brother would know… _if_ he's still alive…"

"Is that where Lord Tyrion is?"

"That's where his ship sailed…" Jaime coughed a little, holding her closer. "Who knows where he might have ended up…"

A short silence. Brienne was glad of Jaime's arms around her. The air was becoming almost unbearably cold…

"Yes… _Love_ …" Jaime murmured, leaning his head on her shoulder. "can make a man…really surprise himself…"

Suddenly, a strange feeling crept over her. Lady Sansa's words rang in her mind like a death toll. Oh no. _Oh no_ …Jaime carefully reached down to take her hand in his. Gently, he turned her around to face him. Her heart began to race. _No…no_ … _please no_ …

"Brienne…" Jaime looked deeply into her eyes. A smile played around his lips, but his eyes were serious. "Oh…I know you know what I'm going to say…I can see it in your eyes…" Gently, he stroked her face, brushing her hair back with his stump hand. "You know I love you…gods, I love you so much it scares the hell out of me… I have sworn you my sword…now let me swear my life…" Slowly, he began to kneel…

"No!" Brienne caught his shoulders, pulling him back upright. "Jaime, stop it now!"

Jaime blinked at her, confused. " _Gods_ , Brienne, what's wrong?"

Brienne could feel tears welling behind her eyes. "Jaime, _no_. Don't say it. _Please_ don't say it. You can't-"

" _Marry me_." Jaime grabbed her hand again. "Marry me-"

"Stop, _stop it_!" Brienne tried to pull her hand away…but she could not. Instead, she looked straight into his eyes, those beautiful eyes she saw every time she closed her own… "Jaime, I _can't_. You know I can't."

Jaime sighed with frustration. "Brienne, we _must_ -"

"That's _why_!" Brienne gripped his hand in both of her own. "I marry you, and the child is legitimate. I marry you, and it's like…it's like I've signed our baby's _death warrant_ …"

"Oh, _gods_ …" Jaime looked at her in desperation. "We have _agreed_ to do this already."

"I know, but…" Brienne could not find the words she needed. "I _can't_. I can't do it…"

Jaime's own eyes had become misty as he looked at her. "Brienne… _please_. This…this isn't just about the realm…" He took a deep breath. "If there was no baby, no agreement, no kingdom…would you marry me?"

"If there was no baby you wouldn't be here…" Brienne whispered.

" _Brienne_!" Jaime almost cried out in frustration. "Even if there was no baby, the gods kept bringing us together for a reason!" He lowered his voice again. "If there was nothing riding on it, and I asked you, would you marry me?"

Brienne swallowed hard. She looked back at him. There was no need to say a word.

" _Yes_ …" Jaime kissed her, holding her as tightly as he could. "Gods, Brienne… _Marry me_. Forget about the realm. Forget about everything else. I love you. Marry me. Let me do this properly. Marry me in the sight of the old gods and the new. Give me your hand, let me be yours, let me make you mine. Be my love, my life, my wife…" Jaime looked deeply into her eyes… " _Please_ …"

Brienne could not breathe. As she looked at Jaime, heard him say such words…her love for him seemed to fill the entire sky…every fibre of her being wanted nothing more than to fall straight into his arms…but…no. _No_. She felt the child move inside her, so tiny, so weak…She couldn't.

"You know I would…but I _can't_. I can't do it…"

Jaime didn't say a word. He pulled her close and held her, kissing her hair…but she could tell how disappointed he was. It almost tore her apart…but she couldn't. She could not bring herself to do it. She could not let him-her baby-go. His bastardy protected him. It was the only thing that protected him. And she could not let his last guard fall.


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello! Hope you enjoy this chapter! There will be no post tomorrow, because I will be too busy, but bear with me for what I promise will be a good one on Monday! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Please continue to do so, I really value your thoughts! Thank you so much, have a wonderful day xxx**

 **(ignore my last, there WILL be an update tomorrow!)**

" _My beloved brother,_

 _I, Cersei, first of her name, pronounce you the new warden of the north. I command you to ride from the Riverlands immediately and take Winterfell from the Stark bastard, by force if necessary._

 _You are the only person I can trust. Do not let me down._

 _Your loving sister._

…and the Frey's want paying for sending this or they will tell Cersei the truth." Sam said, closing the note.

Jon stood up, grinning. "This is fantastic!"

"I know!" Jaime agreed…but he looked strangely at the letter in Sam's hand. Every letter from Cersei tugged at his heartstrings…not because he loved her, because the Cersei he had loved was gone…but because she was his sister. His twin, his own blood…

"She's almost making it too easy." Jon said, looking pleased and beginning to make markings on the map. "We don't have to worry about someone from the capital coming up here and making trouble."

"Well, as the new warden of the north, I order you to keep doing what you're doing." said Jaime, as cheerfully as he could muster.

"Thanks," Jon smiled at him. Jaime felt a little odd-he supposed it was because he was used to Starks glaring at him…

"Shall I write back to Cersei for you, Ser Jaime?" Sam asked, looking happier than he had in days.

"N-no." Jaime shook his head. "I'll-I'll do it myself."

Jon looked up from the map. "When is the wedding, by the way?"

Jaime's heart dropped. "She…she…doesn't…"

"Doesn't what?" Jon asked, beginning to frown.

Jaime sighed. "Look…I will not force her, and I will not permit anyone else to force her either. But…she is…reluctant."

Frustration crossed Jon's face. "What's wrong? Doesn't she understand that we need a legitimate child? Does she know how hard I've worked-we've all worked? Doesn't she know what's at stake?"

"I know, I know…" Jaime nodded, folding his arms and looking at the floor. "I'm trying…It's just…Mothers don't tend to give up their babies easily-"

"But this baby is the future!" Jon said exasperatedly. "Please, please, just fucking try harder!"

* * *

 _My deerest sister,_

 _I shall do as you command._

 _I pray to see you agen soon._

 _Your loyal brother, Jaime Lannister._

He did not know why he signed his full name, as if his sister was a stranger. All the way up here, it almost seemed as if she was…before he could think about it too much, he handed the note over to Samwell Tarly to check.

"You've…you've spelt-" Sam began.

"Just send it," Jaime rolled his eyes, desperate to see the back of the note of lies. "She'll know I definitely wrote it. Never was any good at letters." He handed Sam his Lannister sigil stamp to seal the note. "Send it tonight. And send a bag of Lannister gold to the Freys."

"Yes, Ser Jaime." Sam smiled, sealing the note and leaving.

Jaime looked up at the ceiling. He felt a familial pang of guilt for betraying Cersei...but he had his own family to think about now…a new little Lannister lion cub, with a golden mane…if Brienne _ever_ agreed to marry him…he sighed. It was such a horrible situation. To know that Brienne wanted to marry him, that it would make her as happy as it would make him, but for her to refuse him in fear…it made him imagine taking her to Pentos every day, to marry her the moment they stepped off the ship. The thought was so tempting…he had enough gold, enough wits, all it would take was a cloak low over his face until Westeros was far behind them, disappearing into the distance. Their baby would grow up so healthy and strong with all that sunshine, so happy. No one would know them. Life would be, as Jaime had never known it, anonymous, simple and _normal_. No politics, no power, just living. He allowed himself to picture teaching his son to swing a sword, to catch a rabbit, even to read and write…though Brienne was probably better at all of those things than he was. Jaime smiled. He imagined taking their child out to a forest to chop wood all afternoon, as he had done as a boy, showing him how to climb trees and swim in the sea. It would be such a _blue_ sea, so sparkling, bluer than Casterly Rock, bluer than even Tarth…

But he knew they could not. Whether he liked it or not, his son would be king. It was the only way to save the realm from the horror beyond the Wall. And from Cersei. But Brienne still did not seem to see this…

Jaime stretched, then stood. He understood. He would take their baby across the sea in a heartbeat to keep him safe and to ensure that he never even heard of the Iron Throne. But he could not. Their boy was a king.

* * *

"Seven hells…" Brienne murmured, retying her belt for the fifth time that morning. It seemed uncomfortable whichever way it sat.

"Oh dear. Not good?" Denys asked sympathetically from behind her.

"I'm fine." Brienne said, pursing her lips as she struggled.

"Oh, stop being so noble, my lady," Denys said. "Look, wouldn't you be better off in a dress? They're designed to loosen for exactly this."

Brienne looked daggers at her favourite guard, fastening the belt over her belly, which seemed to grow by the day. "Wouldn't _you_ be better off in a dress since you know so much about them?"

"How dare you!" Denys held up his hands. "I _never_ wear dresses when I'm on duty!"

Despite herself, Brienne smiled. "Alright. But I take your point…"

"Perhaps you should give it some thought, my lady? You might be more comfortable."

"I will not wear a dress," Brienne insisted. "Dresses are so _restrictive_. You can't run, you can't draw a sword quick enough, you can't fight, you can't do anything more than sit sewing more bloody dresses. You know, I think that's why women have always worn them-the _men_ didn't want us outshining them."

Denys laughed. "Why don't you ask Samwell Tarly the origins of dresses? He's bound to know, the little bookworm. Anyway, do you really expect to be fighting anyone any time soon, my lady?"

Brienne gritted her teeth. "I am carrying a baby that the queen will want dead as soon as she knows he exists. I am ruling nothing out."

"That's why I'm here," Denys smiled. "I'm the one who will fight the assassins, run, draw and fight for you, protect our future king from anyone who would seek to hurt him. I shield your back and keep you safe from all harm. I'll stop short of tasting your food though-it might be poisoned."

Brienne rolled her eyes. "Don't joke about that."

"Meaning nothing by it, my lady," Denys stepped off immediately. But he frowned a little. "Look. You're not happy, are you?"

Brienne gave a small snort. "You have a keen eye."

Denys looked genuinely sad. He approached, bending down slightly to her chair so they were at eyelevel. He lowered his voice. "Is it because you refuse to marry Ser Jaime?" he whispered.

"Is that the stuff of gossip now?" Brienne felt scandalised. She slumped down a little, even more miserable than before.

"No! No…it's just…well, Jon Snow is quite vocal about it…" Denys gave a small sheepish smile, showing a lot of his dimples. "Don't you _want_ to marry him? _I'd_ marry him!"

"I...of _course_ I...nothing could make me happier…" She paused, looking firmly down at the floor. "but I can't. The moment I married him…our baby would be able to take the throne."

Denys looked confused. "Isn't that the _point_ of this whole thing, my lady?"

Brienne did not know what to say. Instead, she looked over at the window, so frosted by snow the glass almost appeared white.

"I…I just can't bring myself to do it." she said to the ice. "I can't…it isn't safe."

Denys nodded understandingly, though of course he could not. He knelt to the ground in front of her, looking up, his eyes very wide and certain. "You're scared. Of course you are. I'm just saying you don't need to worry. Everyone in this castle is here to protect you. And you have the Kingslayer too! I know he's lost his fighting hand, but he's still good-all that highborn training must be worth something."

Brienne bit her lip. "Don't call him Kingslayer." she muttered. "He hates that name."

Denys blinked. "Why? I thought he'd be proud. King Aerys was dangerous, wasn't he? It was much better under King Robert, wasn't it? Well, less people were burned. Surely he's happy he did it? _I'd_ be proud!"

Brienne looked down. "He broke a sacred oath when he killed his king. Whether it was the right thing to do or not has nothing to do with that."

"Fair enough," Denys nodded. "I suppose you're right, my lady. But…isn't it _funny_ that…no, actually, never mind."

"What?"

Denys looked sheepish again. "Nothing. I just had a thought, that's all."

"Care to share it?" Brienne looked up at him. "It must be less tedious than sitting in here like an invalid and watching the snow fall."

Denys took a deep breath. "Meaning no offence my lady. It's just…I heard tell you killed King Stannis Baratheon after Ramsay Bolton destroyed his army-"

"The _false_ king Stannis Baratheon," Brienne corrected him, bristling as the memory stirred. "And I did not _kill_ him. I executed him for the murder of Renly Baratheon-the _true_ king."

"Alright, alright, whatever you say," Denys said, already looking like he was regretting his words. "I just thought…isn't it funny how the Kingsl-Ser Jaime killed the Mad King…and you killed the _false_ king Stannis…you're sort of _both_ Kingslayers. In a way, my lady. Meaning no offence."

Brienne thought for a moment. Then-she shook her head. "I was never sworn to Stannis. My sword was not his, my life was not his. I did not slay _my_ king. While Jaime…did so."

Denys shrugged. "You both killed powerful men."

Brienne rolled her eyes. "Denys, if I sat here and mourned every man I'd ever killed, I would get nothing done."

Denys grinned again, his dimples flashing. "And you worry that your baby isn't safe."

Brienne looked down. "…Kings are slayed so frequently. All five men from the War of the Five Kings now lie in the dust…Joffrey, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy…Renly…" She paused, thinking of the kind face of the young king who had died in her arms… "Of course he isn't safe."

"And that's why you won't marry Ser Jaime." Denys nodded knowledgably. "To protect him."

Brienne's heart ached at the memory of Jaime's face as he'd tried to propose to her on the battlements… "Yes, Denys."

"Shame…" Denys sighed. "I love a royal wedding."

Brienne blinked. "It would not be a _royal_ wedding!"

"Of course it is," Denys said, his grin teasing now. "It's the future king's parents getting married. Doesn't really get much more royal." The cheeky smile grew, deepening his dimples. "You should wear a _beautiful_ dress, all flowy and extra restrictive, covered in flowers and hearts and-oh, my lady! Your face!" he laughed. "But it's true. Yours would be a _royal_ wedding, whether you want it to be or not."

Brienne sighed hard. "If only it wasn't..."

"I know…" Denys shook his head. "But listen, my lady. There aren't five kings any more. There are only two. And I know which one the realm would hate the least." He smiled again. "Everyone in the seven kingdoms wants Queen Cersei gone, except she herself of course. While your baby will have the full support of everyone else, if Jon's plan comes through. And if he can manage war strategy as well as he manages to keep his hair so lusciously soft and curly in this weather, that's pretty much a guarantee."

Brienne could not help but smile. There was something in the way that Denys phrased things, something in the light, Northern tone of his voice that made everything seem so simple…

"Anyway, you know all of that." Denys smiled sadly, his dimples flashing again. "But you're still afraid, aren't you?"

A small nod.

"I understand, my lady," Denys nodded sympathetically. "All you've heard of are kings being killed and plotted against because you've spent your whole life protecting people. It's your _job_ to be suspicious and protective. But this baby…this baby is going to help to lead us through the Long Night Jon says is coming. He will have the protection and love of the whole of Westeros!"

"Oh Denys, that's ridi-"

"He already has mine. And everyone else's in this castle. And he is not even born! I call that some power, don't you?" Denys smiled, looking her straight in the eyes. "The only king I intend to bend the knee to, apart from Jon Snow, is right there." He gestured to her belly, and she could not help but smile back. "Now, since you're no fun when you're miserable, my lady, how about you do something for yourself for a change?"

"What do you suggest? I really don't think wearing a dress is going to help-"

"Marry Ser Jaime, my lady. Marry him, and smile again."

* * *

" _Your loyal brother, Jaime Lannister_ …"

Qyburn gently set the note down on the desk, before stepping respectfully back. It was late; every candle in the room had almost burned out. The faint glow hung low over the room, yellowish stone and blood red furnishings appeared darkened. In the dim light. Outside, small bursts of light punctuated the darkness that blanketed the capital, being slowly extinguished one by one as the city fell asleep. But for the woman Qyburn addressed, there was no rest. Dark purple bags accented her eyes, her shorn head bearing evidence of hands being run through it. But still, her face was composed as only she could muster.

"And the Freys say they have not seen hide nor hair of him for months?"

Qyburn nodded, looking grave. "Yes, your grace. It would appear that Ser Jaime's bribe was not enough to pacify them. They remain loyal to the crown."

Cersei sniffed. She brought her golden goblet to her lips and drained it. "More wine." Holding it out to her cup bearer, who quickly refilled it with wine, she looked back at Qyburn. "I do not trust the Freys. Their motives are never pure."

"Very good, your grace," said Qyburn, giving a small bow. "But there is no reason for them to make this claim, unless they are seeking to destroy Ser Jaime's reputation in your eyes. They may be trying to break the trust between you."

Cersei sipped her wine. "They will not." She leaned forward over the note, her eyes tracing the letters. "That is Jaime's hand. He always was stupid at writing…"

"Yes, your grace." Qyburn agreed. "However…" Reaching into the deepest pocket of his robe, he produced…a dead raven. Its black feathers were laced with blood, its still-open eyes crossed, evidence of strangulation. In fact, the bone showed through the fine feathers, showing that its little neck had been violently snapped. Qyburn carefully lay the bird on the desk beside the letter. "This is a _Northern_ raven."

Cersei wrinkled her nose in disgust at the dead animal, but she did not comment. "Jaime is now the warden of the North. Is it not fitting that he should not use his own birds?"

Qyburn raised an eyebrow. "Quite, your grace. But for Ser Jaime to have sent this Northern bird in reply to your orders, he would have had to have ridden from the Twins to Winterfell, taken it from the bastard and sat pretty in the grand hall in less than two days. Impossible, your grace, even for your brother."

Cersei frowned. She looked at the note again, then at the dead bird on her desk. Slowly, she took another sip of wine. "Are you suggesting that…Jaime may have been in the North for some time?"

"I am suggesting that it is highly unlikely that he has not been, your grace." Qyburn gave the queen a significant look.

Cersei looked into the dark red liquid left in her goblet. There was not enough…there was never enough. She looked back at her Hand. " _I trust Jaime_."

"Of course, your grace."

"However…" Cersei glanced at the doorway. Stood before it, built like a wall, his grey skin as impenetrable as his armour, eyes as scarlet as her cloak peering unfocusedly through his helmet, was Ser Gregor. He did not quite look back at her. He did not seem to see at all any more. But she did not need his eyes. Only his sword. And the swords of all men who served her. "Perhaps, we ought to send Jaime a little reminder of whom he serves."

"Very good, your grace." Qyburn smiled in his strange way, bowing low to the queen.


	17. Chapter 17

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Lord Baelish stood straight, staring out of the window of his room. He was rarely allowed to leave, and if he sat very still, he could hear the Winterfell guard's heavy breathing outside the door. Never had he been alone with his thoughts for so long. But this suited him. He smiled. He waited.

* * *

A burned pyre smoked just outside of the castle walls. It had almost reduced to ashes by now, but still Brienne watched from a window. There was a kind of beauty to it-the black ashes against the white snow. They had not wanted to burn Ser Davos, for he hated fire and anyone who dealt in it. But Jon had insisted that it was unsafe to do otherwise, for fear that those kind, old eyes the world had known would turn brightest blue. But still-given the demises of his son and the tragic Princess Shireen, it felt very wrong. Jon had not shown it as he had lit the pyre, passing the torch as they did in the Night's Watch, from Samwell to Lord Selwyn to Jaime, but he had winced as the flames licked higher and higher to finally engulf the old man.

Strange now. It seemed so clean-so final. Brienne could never abide a tomb-the thought of the body rotting beneath the stone. There was a kind of terrible beauty to the fire. That was what she wanted, when she should die. No decay-just ashes. Black ashes on white snow.

Again, tears welled behind her eyes. The old man had finally died, after over a month of sleeping. There was a moment, on his final evening, that Sam had sworn he was getting better, and may even open his eyes…but they had burned him this morning. She had wept as Jon spoke over him, of his bravery, loyalty, how a dishonest smuggler had become the most honest man in Westeros. Of his kindness, of his steadfastness, of his devotion as a father…and to protecting the innocent. The innocent Jon had referred to was the child inside her. And for him, Ser Davos had died. Now, she silently cried tears of grief and gratitude, hating the fact that she could never repay him for helping to save her child.

"Don't cry, my lady…" Denys murmured to her from behind, a gentle hand on her shoulder. He squeezed it gently. "You must be strong. For the child."

Brienne nodded wordlessly. She could not stop looking at the black smoke still rising into the silver sky, dancing on the wind…

* * *

Lord Baelish nodded a "thank you" to the squire who brought his meat and bread to him at midday. It did not please him-the bread was hard, the meat dry. But he ate, watching the wind outside beginning to dilute the black smoke of Ser Davos' pyre. It was with some satisfaction that he had watched from his window as Jon Snow, his face a mask of righteous grief, had burned the old man's corpse. Still, he waited. Carefully placing the clean bone upon his plate, he smiled again. He reached down to his pocket, feeling cold, golden fingers…it had been so considerate of Ser Jaime to leave his hand buried in the hay in that gods-forsaken cell…There was still time to wait. But every hour, less…

* * *

It was dark again by the time Jaime could remove himself from Jon Snow's strategy meetings. He strode along the corridors and up the stairs, until finally, he approached Brienne's chamber. He felt a rush of gratefulness-thinking of this time was the only thing that kept him going all the long, weary day. It was a glorious moonlit oasis in these times.

"Good evening." Jaime smiled at Denys, who stood guard outside the chamber.

Denys smiled back, his dimples flashing, before he turned to step away from the door. "You know Lord Selwyn would go mad if he knew I let you do this." he quipped, as he did every night. "If it wasn't my lady's wish, I'd turn you right away!"

Jaime snorted. "As if you could possibly do that. Thank you."

"Pleasure, Ser Jaime," He stepped aside-before pausing. "Er…I should probably tell you that my lady is feeling somewhat…delicate today. After the funeral." The young guard looked sadly up at Jaime, his eyes filled with genuine concern. It always touched Jaime how devoted young Denys was to his duty. "I do hate so much to see her so unhappy…"

"Thank you," Jaime gave a sad smile. "I will do my best."

With a small bow, Denys stepped aside. Jaime gave a small knock on the door, before stepping back respectfully.

Denys had been right to warn him. The Brienne who opened the door was pale, her eyes pink and blotchy red, her hair twisted this way and that. It was incredible how, even in her vulnerable state, Jaime could still see nothing but the strongest woman in Westeros. His scarlet cloak was wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Quickly, he stepped into the chamber, closed the door and pulled her into a tight embrace. "There now…there now…"

"I'm fine…" Brienne whispered into his shoulder.

"Don't worry…" Jaime kissed her cheek, gently sitting her down and wrapping the cloak tighter around her. He stroked her face with one finger, so gentle on her skin, stiff from tears. "Do you want to talk about this morning?"

"N-no…" Brienne murmured. "I've-I've said my goodbye to Ser Davos. I-I have to be strong."

"You are strong," Jaime smiled at her proudly. But he held her tightly. There was a silence as he gently stroked her hair, smoothing it out with his fingers. She seemed to like it, so he carried on, until her hair lay neatly, pushed back from her face. It appeared to relax her, as her hair grew warmer from the heat of his touch, her complexion beginning to level out.

"T-thank you." Brienne swallowed hard. She sat up, a determined smile on her face. "How are you, anyway?"

"Me?" Jaime played along, knowing she wanted to talk about absolutely anything else. "I'm always fine-had lunch with your father today."

"Oh yes?"

"Well…he seems to hate me less every day," Jaime forced a smile, opting not to mention how Lord Selwyn had nagged him about marriage, giving him all sorts of suggestions, practically begging him to get it right…

"Did he mention my lack of marrying you?" Brienne gave a half-smile. Jaime grinned back-she could read him like a book these days.

"Once…or twice."

"Seven hells…" Brienne muttered, rolling her eyes as she leaned on Jaime. "He's been trying to marry me off since I was seven…"

Jaime felt his heart sink a little. Every night, he lay beside her and prayed to every god there was that she would change her mind… "He's not doing this to hurt you. He just wants what's best."

Brienne made a non-committal noise. She looked up at Jaime sadly, taking his hand in both of her own. "I know…if only it were peacetime. And we weren't noble. And there was nothing riding on this. I'd…"

Jaime nodded, kissing her sadly. "I'd have wed you long ago…I shan't ever force you, you know. Whatever Jon Snow says, whatever you father says…If you would have me, it has to be of your own free will. On your terms. We are not children who have never met creating an alliance…I love you. And I don't think I could go through with it if I knew it wouldn't make you happy…"

"Oh Jaime…you know it would," Brienne sighed. "But…what makes me happy is far, far less important than keeping this child from harm."

"Seven hells…" Jaime murmured, holding her as close as he could. "We should have gone to Pentos…"

* * *

 _My Lord Qyburn,_

 _I have done as you have asked, and I can confirm that your suspicions are not unfounded. I have discovered unbelievable information concerning a plot to overthrow the crown. Her Grace the Queen's own brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, has fathered a child yet unborn whom the North are championing to depose Her Grace. He resides still at Winterfell where the Northern forces gather. I swear before the seven that this is the truth and wish only to protect and serve the crown and the realm._

 _Forever faithful_

 _Your Friend_


	18. Chapter 18

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" _And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?"_ Baelish sang under his breath, still watching contentedly out of the window. His voice was lilting and tuneful, so quiet he could barely hear himself. Patience was perhaps his greatest quality-besides his brains, obviously. He smiled to himself. His raven must have reached its target by now. It had been almost impossible to send it, with his being watched every moment of the day. There had been no need to sign it, for who else could have been its architect? " _Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know_ …" He took a sip of wine, watching as the sky grew darker as the day drew to a close. Not long now. Not long.

* * *

" _Only a cat of a different coat_

 _That's all the truth I know._

 _In a coat of gold, a coat of red_

 _A lion still has claws_

 _And mine are long and sharp, my lord_

 _As long and sharp as yours…"_

"Oh, you have such a pretty voice, Ser Bronn!" said the kitchen maid. She sat somewhat precariously on Bronn's lap, smiling up at him, a hand twisted in her long dark hair.

"And you have a pretty arse," Bronn grinned back, giving her a kiss. He looked absolutely made up, sat in a comfortable wooden chair between the beds in his chamber, with a woman in one hand and an ale in the other. He looked back over at Jaime, who sat opposite him, the mug in his own hand half empty. "If the wind changes, you'll stay like that." he said warningly.

Jaime gave a non-committal shrug, taking another swig of ale. It tasted awful-but he did not drink for pleasure. He drank for the numbness it lent to his mind, for the slight haze that was building around the edges of his vision. "I'll never be as ugly as you." he muttered lightly.

Bronn gave a theatrical gasp, looking up at the kitchen maid. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?" As she giggled, he turned back to Jaime. "Ah, what does it matter? Since this whole castle knows about you and the magnificent Lady Brienne, I've had a lot more luck, ugly or not." He patted the girl on his lap, giving her another kiss. Quite an enthusiastic one. Such was his enthusiasm, Jaime found himself having to politely turn away. He took another gulp of ale.

"Anyway, what's got you down tonight?" Bronn asked as he paused for breath. "I've seen men on the gallows looking more cheerful."

Jaime shrugged again. He looked down into the ale mug, which he had almost drained. "Sam sets off for the Reach tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

"Well…it really starts then, doesn't it?" Jaime sipped the last few dregs of ale, immediately getting up to refill from the jug on the cabinet beside him. "The whole…thing…" He could not seem to find words so easily, gesturing widely with his arms. "We'll have really begun, I mean…"

Bronn looked disinterested. " _You_ fucking began it the moment you finally got inside big Brienne. Shame you're so good at producing bastards…"

Had anyone else spoken to him that way, Jaime would have stuck a sword in them. But tonight…the ale was making him feel too lazy even for anger. In no time, he had drained his new mug. "You're not nervous, I take it?" he muttered.

"Nope." Bronn stretched, wrapping his arms tightly-and strategically-around the kitchen maid. "If I live, I get a fat purse of Lannister gold. If I die…well…" He hungrily kissed the girl on his lap, his hand slipping loose the lace of her bodice.

Jaime smirked at his companion. He felt quite strange-somehow lighter, still tasting the ale on his lips. Everything seemed to be moving slower… "I suppose…you've nothing to lose…"

"Nothing but my head." Bronn said cheerfully.

It was hardly funny-but Jaime found himself laughing. And once he started, he could not stop. It seemed as if all his anxiety for the war to come was leaking out of him with the laughter. He felt oddly warm, as if he was sinking into a hot bath, as if the ale was gently cooking inside him. It was good. Surely more ale was better though? Must be better. More ale.

* * *

Cersei had not left her chamber all day. Wine was brought to her, but she did not even allow a cup bearer to stay with her. The only movements she made were to pour her own wine or to bring her goblet to her lips. There was such familiarity in these movements that they almost seemed comforting. However, the drink was not taking the toll she hoped for. There was no numbness, no quiet warmth, no matter how much she swallowed. Even the taste had begun to dull away in her mouth, so she ordered the cup bearer to bring yet stronger wine. Still, nothing. The taste was dull, yet her mind refused to dull as it did. It was so full, even all the wine in the seven kingdoms could not drown her thoughts.

A knock at the door.

She did not move.

Another knock.

"Your Grace?" Qyburn's tones. Carefully grave.

Cersei made no sound. She did not wish to see him. She did not wish to see anyone.

The raven, who had arrived that morning, lay dead at the foot of her bed-ripped completely in half, it's little legs on one side, it's head, twisted sideways, on the other. It had been little comfort to her to watch Ser Gregor destroy the bird that had brought such news. Very little. None. Cersei took another gulp of wine. She stared out of the window, but her eyes did not see. There was nothing to see but Jaime…

They had come into this world _together_. They, Cersei had believed from the moment she was born, were _supposed_ to be together. They were two perfect halves of one whole. And, even in her darkest hours, she had known that she could never truly be alone while the other half of herself still lived and breathed and loved her…it was like an eternal fire at her back, keeping her warm, keeping her from solitude forever, keeping her moving on...

Now, for the first time in her life…Cersei was cold.

* * *

Some time later, when Jaime had almost finished his sixth-or was it seventh?-mug, Bronn looked up at Jaime, jerking his head towards the girl, who was eagerly kissing his neck. "Are you leaving, or what?"

"Oh, right…" Jaime got to his feet-but found he was still sat in his chair. He frowned, confused, trying to get up again. Again-he found himself still slouched in the wooden seat.

Bronn was roaring with laughter, the kitchen maid giggling appreciatively. "You, my lord," Bronn said, putting on a pseudo-posh voice. "are drunk."

"Am not…" said Jaime, using the arms of the chair to stand up. "Perfectly fine see? Have lion grace, me." Carefully, placing one foot in front of the other, he picked his way to the door, remembering to close it behind him. "Goodnight…" he mumbled to no one who could hear, using his hand to feel his way along the walls. They were cold…that was a shame…he was so warm… "… _a coat of gold, a coat of red_ …" he sang under his breath, concentrating on getting to the staircase, which seemed so far away. If only horses could come inside the castle, he would be there in no time at all… "… _a lion still has claws…mine are long and sharp_ …" His feet found the stairs. Now…leaning on the bannister, he made his way up, taking his time to ensure both feet were steady on each step before pulling himself up. It would be so much quicker with two hands… "… _as long and sharp as yours_ …"

Here was the top. Right. Jaime found himself pointing his own way with his stump, towards Brienne's chamber…he was so _excited_ to see her…it was great. Wasn't it _great_? So great…He became aware of the sounds his boots made on the stone floor as he made his way. It was such a shame Tyrion was not here…he was so _good_ at drinking…Jaime vaguely wondered why they had not drunk together more…still. It was so _great_. Everything was great.

"Evening, Ser Jaime!" called young Denys from outside the door. A lop-sided grin spreading across his face, Jaime hailed him with his stump hand, patting him on the shoulder as he approached. "Ser Jaime?" Denys had begun to smile back-a knowing smile. "Oh _dear_. My lady will not like this!"

"My lady likes me _very_ much…" Jaime raised an eyebrow as he knocked on the door, louder than he normally would.

"Ooohh…" Denys chuckled under his breath. "You'll be in trouble. And you'll be in trouble with your head tomorrow morning!"

"No, _you_ will be…" muttered Jaime vaguely, leaning on the door. Wasn't it _funny_ how all the Winterfell guards wore the same clothing?

"I'm sure she'll forgive you," Denys grinned cheekily, his dimples very visible. He winked at Jaime. " _I_ could never stay angry with you…"

"Very kind." Jaime patted his shoulder again, like one might pat a dog. "Aren't you a good lad?"

" _You're_ a very bad one." giggled Denys. But he stepped aside as finally, Brienne had begun to slide the bolt open from the inside.

" _Brienne_!" Jaime opened his arms wide, folding her tightly into them. " _Gods_ , I've missed you…"

"Jaime?" Brienne frowned at him uncertainly, looking at Denys for answers. "Has he been _drinking_?"

"Do you want me to take him away, my lady?" Denys asked, trying not to laugh.

Brienne gave a heavy sigh. "No. It's fine. I can deal with him…come on." Firmly, she pushed him into her room, closing the door behind them.

Jaime could barely contain his happiness. "I love you so much…" he declared, going to kiss her. " _Gods_ , I love you…"

Ignoring him, Brienne sat him firmly on the bed. "You're an _idiot_." she said disapprovingly.

Jaime could not understand. "But..." he stuttered, finding it unfathomable that she did not feel as happy as he did. Why wasn't she _smiling_? "But…you're so _lovely_ when you smile…" he wondered aloud.

Brienne sniffed as she knelt down and slid off his boots. Jaime seemed oblivious to this, smiling vacantly, leaning back.

" _Smile_!" He reached out to pat her hair, but missed, instead vaguely stroking her shoulder. " _Please_? I don't think I shall last another moment if you don't! I'll die right here and now…" he said dramatically, pulling a grotesque mask of death.

" _That_ might be quite amusing." Brienne muttered under her breath, setting his boots beneath the bed, out of the way. She stood up, yanking back the sheets on the bed. "Right. _In_." she instructed him.

" _No_ …" Jaime grinned impishly up at her, looking almost like a child. " _Shan't_."

"Oh, give me _strength_..." Brienne rolled her eyes. "You bloody will, Jaime, or I'll kick you out of here and you'll spend the night in the corridor."

Jaime giggled, looking up at her, his eyes crinkled handsomely. "You could _never_ do that. You fancy me too much."

"Couldn't I? Shall we find out?" Brienne muttered darkly, though her cheeks had gone slightly pink.

" _There_!" Jaime jabbed a finger at her lips. "You nearly smiled!"

Brienne almost gave up there and then. She carefully removed his hand from her face. "You need to go to sleep now." she told him, gently, but with as much conviction as she could muster. "Get into bed."

" _See_!" Jaime grinned lop-sided up at her. " _Told_ you you fancied me!" he said triumphantly.

Brienne sighed. "For the sake of the gods...just lie down."

" _Anything_ for my lady…" Finally, Jaime swung his legs up onto the bed. " _It's okay_." he whispered, as he lay down on the pillow, still smiling up at her, a conspiratorial air about him. He cupped his hand around his mouth, as if shielding his words from all but her, seeming to forget that they were alone. " _I fancy you too_."

Brienne could not help but give a small laugh, he looked and sounded so ridiculous.

" _There_ it is!" Jaime's whole face lit up. " _Gods_ , you're lovely when you smile…" He rolled over to make space, then opened his arms. "Lie with me."

Brienne rolled her eyes again. But, with a resolved sigh, she lay beside him, allowing him to wrap his arms around her. He murmured with pleasure, burying his fingers in her hair. "You are so lovely when you smile…I hope…I hope our baby smiles like you…"

Brienne shook her head, ignoring the way her heart was glowing. "You were so stupid to drink so much…"

" _Shhh_!" Jaime pressed a hand to her lips again. Before she could say another word, he clumsily kissed her, before turning over. "Goodnight…I love you…" he said into the pillow. "I love you…"

Brienne could not help but laugh again. "I love you too…"

"Good…" Jaime murmured, with a yawn. "So glad you're here. Hate to be...alone...so warm in here...goodnight..." Sleepily, he sang:" _And so they spoke…and so they spoke…that lord of Castamere_ …"

* * *

" _And now the Rains weep o'er his hall with no one there to hear_ …" Denys sang to himself, his voice high and somewhat croaking from lack of sleep. He looked out of the window as the sun rose over Winterfell, wondering if his raven had completed its quest yet… " _And now the Rains weep o'er his hall with not a soul to hear_ …"


	19. Chapter 19

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It was almost midday before Queen Cersei appeared in the small council chamber. Her hair was uncombed, she wore no jewellery and she had dabbed no perfume at her breast. The bags beneath her eyes had deepened, and the whites of her eyes were tinged red. However, there was no one but Qyburn to see. Only he stood up respectfully from the council table as Cersei entered, Ser Gregor Clegane close behind her. His own scarlet eyes made the queen's look almost normal, as if she had slept peacefully the previous night.

"Your grace," Qyburn was grave, sad sympathy in his voice. His manner was that of a man at the deathbed of a close friend. "My sincerest condolences-"

"And what good are those?" Cersei snapped. Instantly, Qyburn sat back down at the table, looking at her with serious eyes, awaiting his next instruction. Slowly, Cersei moved to the side table, her feet feeling strangely heavy, and poured herself a cup of wine. She felt that her severe headache from the previous night's drinking could only be cured by drinking more. Perhaps this time it would serve to numb her. Slowly, she sipped, before turning to Qyburn. "Are the ships ready?"

"…The ships, Your Grace?" Qyburn asked, frowning a little.

"The ships." Cersei nodded, taking another sip. "To sail north."

Qyburn looked shocked for a split-second-before retaining his calm manner, giving a tight smile. "At once, Your Grace."

"Send all the men we can spare…" Cersei murmured. She looked down at the embroidered rug below her feet-embroidered with _stags_ …before looking back at Qyburn. "I don't care who you have to get through. Kill every man, woman and child in the North if you have to. Just bring Jaime back to me." She turned sharply away, staring out of the window.

Qyburn gave a bow. "Yes, Your Grace. They will sail from Blackwater Bay by sundown." He began to leave the room.

"Make sure the child dies." she called after him. "As quickly as you can. Use whomever you have at Winterfell. Just…make sure..."

"But of course, Your Grace." Qyburn smiled. "It will not survive the week."

"And kill its whore mother." Cersei added, taking another gulp of wine as the door shut behind him. Silence fell across the small council chamber. She looked over to the chair where Jaime once sat… _it wasn't his fault_ , she thought to herself. _It wasn't his fault…men are so easily swayed…any tavern whore might have looked tempting after months on the road…Even Ned Stark fathered a bastard_ …

It did not matter. She would stamp out this little problem and have Jaime by her side again before the month was out. And he would know. He would know then what would happen if he ever crossed her again. She forgave him, for she had no one else in the world…but he had to know the price he would pay should he ever cross her again…

Cersei could not help but imagine the girl who had managed to tempt Jaime away from her…young? Of course she would be young. There would be no lines on her face, no bags under her eyes...Northern girls had dark hair, or red hair, and they had curves, dark eyes, long lashes…perhaps this whore was even beautiful. It did not matter though. Whomever served Qyburn in the North would have whichever tavern slut was carrying Jaime's bastard dead within a week, and the child inside her too…but still...she could not stop thinking about what sort of a woman it would have taken to seduce her brother...Cersei drained her wine cup.

It seemed as though the gods were mocking her. All her babies gone…yet Jaime was allowed another. Another child, this time with dark hair, like its whore mother…no. Jaime's children were dead-all three of them. There were no more. No more. Their children were dead. And there were no more. There could not be.

* * *

Brienne threw the curtains open, making sure the weak, snowy light streamed directly onto Jaime Lannister's sleeping face. "You should have been up an hour ago."

With a small grunting sound, Jaime opened his eyes a millimetre-before shutting them tightly, and pulling the bed furs over his head. He moaned in pain. "Shut them…" he whined. "In the name of the Mother's mercy, shut the fucking curtains…"

"No," Brienne sat down next to him, grabbing the furs from his hands and pulling them away. "You have to be up. Samwell Tarly is riding for the Reach in an hour and you need to be there when he leaves."

"W-why?" Jaime groaned, trying to yank the furs back from her. "Seven hells, _my head_ …"

Brienne gave a smug smile. "Which is why you shouldn't get drunk. It makes you ridiculous and useless the next day."

"N-not all of us are p-permanently battle-ready…" Jaime grunted.

"Shame," Brienne said smartly. She leaned over, taking the plate from the cabinet whence she had laid it. "Eat. I brought you some bread."

A small smile spread over Jaime's face, though his eyes were still closed tightly. " _Marry me_ …"

"Shut up." Brienne put the plate on his lap. "Eat. Then get up. You need to see Sam off. It's only right." She stood up, going to leave. Her mind was swimming. Fear like nothing she had known before filled her every cell as she thought of Sam leaving. It was the first-the first part of Jon's grand plan falling into place…the plan to put her baby on the throne…

"Brienne…" Jaime sat up, opening his eyes. He reached out, taking her hand. "Brienne…you've got that look in your eyes again."

"What look?" She couldn't help but curl her fingers into his, holding tightly.

"The look…like someone is about to die."

Brienne took a deep breath. Then let it go. "What else do you expect?"

Jaime sighed. He moved the tray from his lap, edging towards her. "Stop." His voice was quiet, calming, as he held her hand. "You can't predict the future. You don't know what's going to happen. Stop worrying about things that haven't happened yet."

Brienne gritted her teeth. She looked down at him, wishing to all the gods that she could believe his words, believe that everything might just be fine… "Thank you." she whispered, still holding his hand as tightly as she could.

Jaime gave a sad smile-Brienne knew that he was a long way from convinced. "Let's just get through today, shall we?"

* * *

Jon hugged Sam like a brother, patting his back hard. "Safe journey."

"I'll do my best." Sam smiled back. He looked at Jon for a long moment, before turning back to Gilly and little Sam. "Come on, then, you!" he grinned at the little boy, who was wrapped up warm. "We're going to see your grandmother…and unfortunately your grandfather will be there too…"

Jon smiled. "Sure you'll be alright getting there?"

"Well…" Sam gestured at the reasonable force of Northern soldiers that were to be joining him, to help rally support in the Reach. There were nine Stark men, three Umbers and four of those precious Bear Islanders from Lady Mormont. "I'm sure we'll be quite safe."

"Alright then." Jon nodded, patting Sam on the back. He stepped back, joining his sister Sansa, who stood beside Tormund, Jaime, Brienne and Lord Selwyn. On his other side, Bronn slouched, his arms folded, clearly nursing a hangover worse than Jaime's. "Good luck." Jon called, as Sam turned away, his arm around Gilly, who carried little Sam towards the gates. Their soldiers followed, upright and dutiful. They certainly looked convincing, even if Sam did not.

"And the same to you." Sam called back, as the order went up to open the gates.

There was a wait as the gates were pulled open, slowly. But, finally, Sam, with a deep breath, stepped forward. His party followed him, as all of them made to exit the gates. Back inside Winterfell, all watched. There was a shared sense of inevitability common to all. It was as if, with every step, Sam was putting Jon's plan into motion. It seemed at once completely incredible and utterly impossible…madness. But Sam walked on. He walked on, one foot in front of the other, gently leading Gilly, the soliders-

Suddenly-a scream. A _scream_.

An arrow had flown-and hit Sam directly in the arm.

Quick as lightening, Sam and Gilly, both sheltering Little Sam, were rushed back into the caste, the gates slammed shut behind them. The moment he had ensured Gilly and their boy's safety, Sam collapsed against the wall, the arrow stuck fast in his arm, crying out with pain.

Instantly, Jon sprang into action. He looked up to the guards atop the gate, who had all suddenly scurried back to their posts, looking out in horror at the scene that awaited them.

"What do you see?" Jon yelled, as Sansa rushed to Sam's aid, helping Gilly to take him inside.

"…Knights of the Vale!" the guard called back. He looked all around, as far around the castle as he could see. " _Knights of the Vale_! They-where did they _come_ from?" The man was bewildered-but he kept jerking his head around, searching from side to side. "There are _hundreds_ of them! We're surrounded!"

Jon could not believe his ears. He looked around-then his eyes came to rest on Lord Baelish's window. If he squinted, he could just make out the small, rattish face, the moustache…the smile…

* * *

Far away, in Blackwater bay, a ship was made ready. A hundred Lannister soldiers stood ready on the banks, ready to board. In the Red Keep, far above…Queen Cersei watched. She sipped a cup of wine, her face set.


	20. Chapter 20

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" _No_ …" Jon murmured under his breath. He looked wildly around, unable to process what was suddenly happening to his home, the home he had worked so hard to return to.

"My lord?" A commanding Karstark had run to him, followed by men from every Northern army who resided in Winterfell.

Jon stood still for a moment…before jerking violently back into himself "Arches on every wall. Men in the yard. Barricade the gates. Every exit. If they get in-every door manned. Now!" Instantly, there was a flurry of activity as soldiers were summoned, armour was donned, weapons handed out, orders yelled from one man to another. With a single, wordless look shared with Jon, Tormund sprinted off to summon his army, shouting obscenities as was his way.

"Shit…" Bronn muttered, his face twisted in pain from the noise. Nonetheless, he and Jaime drew their swords, side by side beginning to follow Jon's instructions. Lord Selwyn too drew Blue Star and followed suit, suddenly expelling the energy of a man half his age.

Instantly, Brienne drew Oathkeeper-

"Wait! No, no, _no, no_!" Jaime suddenly swung back, running back to Brienne. "Don't you even _think_ about it!"

"Jaime-" Brienne began to protest.

"Denys! _Denys_!"

"Yes, Ser Jaime?" Instantly, Denys sprang into view, a ready smile on his face, though his eyes were worried.

"Escort Lady Brienne to her chamber." Jaime said grimly. "Make sure no one gets in and no one gets out."

"I will _not_ -" Brienne began, infuriated.

Jaime shook his head, placing his hands on her swollen belly. "With all due respect, don't be stupid."

Brienne opened her mouth-but found she could not argue.

"Go and protect the innocent," Jaime kissed her fiercely, then reluctantly turned from her, fixing a steely glare on the young guard. "Denys, don't you fucking dare let anything happen to them."

"Of course, Ser Jaime," Denys gave a wide-eyed smile, before turning to Brienne. "If you please, my lady."

She did not. But, grudgingly, Brienne allowed herself to be lead away, looking back longingly at the scraping of armour and steel weapons, the stamping of horses, the readying of cannons, and Jaime…but she had to follow Denys back into the castle. She felt more frustrated than ever…but she knew Jaime was right. It wasn't just her blood now, not just her broken body…she let Denys lead her toward her chamber.

"I'm sorry, my lady," Denys looked back at her, regret in his eyes. "You'd have all Littlefinger's horrible soldiers beaten in ten minutes flat."

Brienne sniffed, but she smiled. "You're very kind."

Denys chuckled, looking cheeky again. "Your fault for getting pregnant!" he sang.

"Oh gods…" Brienne rolled her eyes as they approached her chamber.

"I can't believe he'd betray Jon like that!" Denys' face fell, and he sounded genuinely devastated. "It's just so _awful_ …"

"I can believe it," Brienne muttered grimly. "It's Littlefinger. It's what he does." She frowned. Then-stopped dead on the stairs.

"My lady?" Denys whipped around, his face flushed with concern. "Is something wrong?"

Brienne looked up. Her face was set. "If you think I'm going to sit in my chamber and do nothing, then you are an idiot." Turning around, she began to descend the stairs as quickly as she could, ignoring Denys' implorations to come back, to follow him to her chamber where it was safe. She did not care. If she could not fight, she had to do _something_. She hurried along the corridor, trying to remember the right way to go. Behind her, she could hear Denys' begrudging footsteps, as he mumbled worriedly under his breath.

"This is a _terrible_ idea, my lady. I have orders from Ser Jaime to-"

"If you want to go back, I'm not going to stop you," Brienne muttered, turning sharply as they approached the corner, before beginning to climb another set of stairs. Behind her, Denys jogged to keep up with her long strides.

"I will not leave you, my lady." he said, with the devotion of a puppy.

Brienne gave a grunt to show she had heard, but otherwise ignored him. She turned another corner-before realising she had gone completely the wrong way-this was the corridor in which Lady Sansa's chamber was situated. Giving a frustrated sigh, she spun around and set off in the other direction, passing by a small group of guards, Denys hurrying along in her wake.

"Please, my lady, I must ask you to stop-"

"Do _you_ propose to stop me?" Brienne called back.

"N-no my lady. Of course not." Denys said begrudgingly. "But where are we going?"

Brienne ignored him, keeping her eyes forward. Her hand gripped the hilt of Oathkeeper, who hung from her belt. She turned another corner, finding it to be finally the correct one. Her eyes fixed on the door at the end of the corridor, two guards stood outside. Littlefinger's room.

* * *

Jaime felt a little useless. He was unaccustomed to not being in charge of a battle situation, and so taking orders from Jon Snow-a Northern bastard-did not quite sit well in his gut, no matter how he now respected him. He had a feeling that Jon was not giving him the important jobs he was used to, but those far more suited to an inexperienced fighter rather than the battle-worn veteran he was. On the other hand…he had only one hand. Jaime groaned aloud. But still, he continued helping to prepare to defend Winterfell as best he could. However, his mind was far away, high in Brienne's chamber, with her. He hated to think of her sitting up there, unable to do anything. He knew how much she would hate it, but it could not be helped. Leaving her with Denys did not sit well with him…then again, she could probably still defend herself better than anyone could.

Still…thinking about what would happen if she wound up in combat and things went badly…

Jaime gritted his teeth. He decided that the moment that the chaos of battle descended, he himself would run to her chamber and defend her himself…he was sorry. He was sorry to Jon Snow, Lady Sansa and Winterfell. But his family was vastly more important to him. The little lion was worth protecting far more than any…

"Jaime?" Bronn hit him hard on the shoulder.

"Yes!" Jaime swung back to his senses. He sprang forward, trying to focus his mind back on the forthcoming fight. High above him, he could hear archers preparing. Jon Snow had appeared on the battlements with them, looking out over the assembled force from the Vale. Only a few moments later-the first orders came. Jon's voice echoed around the castle walls, over the chaos, over the wind, over everything.

" _Nock_!"

* * *

Brienne approached Littlefinger's chamber as she heard Jon's voice from the battlements. Still, she grasped Oathkeeper. Unsure exactly what she proposed to do, she hurried on, knowing that she had to do something. Vaguely aware of Denys following behind her, she tried to think about what she could actually-

"Lady Brienne!"

Brienne whipped around. Behind her, walking as fast as she could and followed closely by an anxious-looking Podrick Payne, was Lady Sansa.

"What are you doing?" she called as she reached her.

"I might ask you the same question, my lady," Brienne looked at her worriedly. "You should be in your chamber-is there anyone else guarding you?" Ignoring Pod's slightly wounded look, she looked straight at Sansa. "Why have you-"

Sansa's eyes slid straight to Littlefinger's door. They narrowed. Then looked back to Brienne…who nodded understandingly. Without a moment's more hesitation, Brienne stepped behind her, drawing Oathkeeper, motioning for Denys and Pod to do the same. They followed Lady Sansa to the door. Sansa waved the guards away, before Pod darted in front to open the door for her. He held it with one hand, and stepped back to let her pass. Then, with the feeling of flies entering a spider's web, all followed her into Littlefinger's chamber.

Lord Baelish himself stood still by the window, watching as Jon's archers prepared to shoot at his men. He turned around as Sansa entered, three drawn swords at her back. A smile spread over his thin, moustached face. "My lady," he greeted her, his voice pure honey. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Lady Sansa stepped forward, looking braver than Brienne knew she felt. Her eyes were fixed on Littlefinger, her face set. "Call off the attack." she ordered. Outside the window, the first Northern arrows rained on the knights of the Vale below.

Littlefinger continued to smile. "Normally I would do anything you commanded, my lady. But that is impossible."

"No," Sansa kept her voice forceful, though her hand shook slightly. "Call off the attack. Go down, stand on the battlements and tell your men to stand down. Do it now, Lord Baelish."

Still smiling, Baelish shook his head. "You have nothing to fear from them, my lady. I swear before the old gods and the new that no one will harm you," He spoke to her sweetly, as if she was still a small child. Brienne could see that Sansa did not take kindly to this. "Even if my men killed every one of your…companions," His eyes swept over Brienne, Denys and Pod, who stood readily behind her. "none would touch you. I swear it."

Sansa took another step towards him, as Jon yelled more orders below. The noise levels were rising, the air full of arrows flying from the walls at the approaching enemy. "Lord Baelish," she addressed him. "For the sake of my _mother_ , call off this attack."

Littlefinger looked strange as Lady Catelyn was mentioned. The corner of his eye twitched a little. His smile momentarily faded. But soon, it returned in full. "I have told you already. You will not be harmed. My men have strictest orders, my lady. Cat would-"

"Don't you _dare_ presume to know what my mother would think!" Sansa hissed, suddenly venomous.

But Baelish ignored her. "Cat would understand that I mean only to bring peace. I mean only to mend the broken kingdoms and bring-"

"Oh… _sheep shift_!" Sansa cried out. Brienne started a little to hear such words come out of Lady Sansa's mouth. But Sansa showed no such hesitancy. "You're already part of Jon's plan to bring peace! This isn't about peace, this is about _power_!"

Baelish was unwavering. "Jon said it himself-what does it matter who is on the iron throne provided that they-"

"Your plans pay no regard to the North!" Sansa said. "The _real_ North. Beyond the wall. That is why Jon is doing all of this-to protect the living from the dead! He needs an _ally_ on the iron throne, not a…a…" She could not seem to find the words-but then, all of a sudden, she was abruptly and loudly interrupted.

A loud bang. A crash of wood on wood. A few seconds. Then another.

Sansa looked shaken. "A battering ram." It was not a question.

Baelish smiled sadly at Sansa. He looked grave, but his eyes twinkled. "My men will have the gates down in a matter of minutes. Then, they will destroy Winterfell and obliterate the Northern forces." He gave a false sigh of frustration-then looked her dead in the eyes. " _You can stop all of this_ , my lady. There need not be any more bloodshed-I am sure Jon feels the loss of Ser Davos keenly…I am not interested in negotiating with Jon Snow. He is nothing but a bastard, and _you_ are the true lady of Winterfell and wardeness of the North." His eyes were shining, as if he could not stop looking at her. "Just say the word, and I will tell my men to stand down. All I ask is that you accept my proposal on the original terms. The North stands behind me. The child is given to my care. I take the capital."

Sansa looked appalled. "N-" Another deafening crash from the courtyard.

"Listen to me," Baelish took a few steps towards Sansa. Instantly, Brienne took a threatening step forward, Oathkeeper poised, hatred burning in her eyes. Pod and Denys followed suit, but Baelish ignored them all. He had eyes only for Sansa. "I can take all of this own. You won't have to worry any more. All I ask is the support of the North. I will even let Jon continue to sit at Winterfell. And I will take you with me to Kings Landing." He extended a hand towards her. "I will take you South, where it is warm, away from the snow and the ice," His voice was still sweet as honey, and just as smooth. "You can live in the Red Keep again, only it will be yours, you can walk in the royal gardens again, sew summer dresses all year round, wear your hair like a Southern lady-only this time there will be no Joffrey, no Cersei…You…" He looked deeply into her eyes. "will live as queen."

Sansa stared back at him. Her face was impossible to read.

"Let me take you South." Baelish said, his voice low, as if talking to a young lover. "Let me take you away from all of this. You can sit beside the Iron Throne again. Just have Jon surrender to me, that's all you need do. You need never fear anything again-not the crown, for you will hold it, not the North, for you will be far away…" Baelish reached out, almost taking her hand. "I will protect you, as I have always tried to protect you…Please, Ca-Sansa…" He took another step closer. "Let me-"

But he could not say another word. For Brienne had stepped forward and punched him hard around the face. She breathed hard as he fell to the floor, clutching the side of his head. It was immeasurable the joy she felt in doing it. Quickly, she, Denys and Pod pointed their swords at the man who squirmed on the ground, preventing him from getting up.

"Thank you, Lady Brienne," said Sansa calmly. She looked at Littlefinger, her expression almost blank. But she spoke true, as if addressing a large audience rather than one slimy little man. "You are a fool if you take me for a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns and who will be tempted by dresses and lemon cake!"

Baelish looked up at her from the floor. He was shocked, his cheek beginning to bruise from Brienne's fist. "You are making a big mistake-"

"No, I am not." Sansa said, her voice almost as smooth as his. "You are the one who made the mistake in summoning the Vale knights. I am their _true_ master, Lord Robin Arryn's, cousin. I think you forget whom you serve as _acting_ lord of the Vale. However, you are still my uncle by law-as was Jon Arryn, the previous lord of the Vale. My Aunt Lysa, whom you murdered, controlled the Vale knights for years. As close kin of their _true_ masters, House Arryn, they must serve me if you tell them to. And _you will."_

Baelish slowly removed his hands from his face. He looked up at the three swords bearing down on him. Then-he looked back at Sansa. "I _-I have always loved-"_

" _I_ _have_ just remembered-I don't care." Sansa finished for him, glass in her eyes and throat. "Now, I will take you out to the battlements. You will remind your men whom they _really_ serve-and it is not House Baelish. It is _House Arryn_ -the house of my kin. Then, I will take you back to the dungeons where you belong. And Jon-the bastard to whose birth you seem to take offence-can decide what to do with you."

With one look from Sansa-Pod and Denys grabbed Littlefinger and pulled him to his feet, their swords at his throat. Brienne stood back to let Sansa pass, before following her closely, Oathkeeper still drawn. Behind them, Baelish was dragged along by Pod and Denys-who were quickly joined on Sansa's orders by the guards who stood outside the door. Quickly, they made their way towards the castle walls.

"Are you alright?" Sansa glanced back at Brienne, her voice back to normal.

"I-" Brienne was almost speechless. She was bursting with pride for Lady Sansa. "That was… _amazing_ , my lady."

"Yes!" Pod agreed from behind, still holding his sword firmly to Baelish's throat. "The best thing I've seen in years."

A hint of a smile played around Sansa's lips, though she looked incredibly distinguished. "I was thinking of my mother." she said, with extreme dignity. She seemed to hold herself a little straighter, walk a little taller. As Brienne watched her, she could see the essence of Catelyn Tully all around her. Today, Sansa was truly a Queen in the North.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Much love to you all xxx**

 **I'm so sorry but there will be NO POST TOMORROW. I will be too busy to produce a chapter of as much quality as I can usually muster, but I promise that there will be an extra-long one on Saturday to make up for it (British time)!**

 **Hope you enjoy, keep reading!**

 _My Loyal Friend in the North,_

 _It has been decided that the object of our interest must be destroyed in its entirety. It is our wish that you proceed as soon as it is possible. Please send word when your task is done, and the crown will amply reward you._

 _Sincerely yours._

* * *

The doors of the great hall of Winterfell swung open. First, there came Ser Bronn, sword in hand. Behind him, several Stark men marched forth. Between them, bound in chains, there walked a man. A small man, who looked considerably dirtier than he had been the previous day, and who now possessed a black bruise that covered half of one cheek. His black robe had a piece of hay stuck to the hem from his night in the cells. One might almost feel pity for such a man. But there was precious little of it in the room.

Jon Snow sat central at the High Table. His hair was matted from the previous day's action, but his face was freshly shaven, his robes pristine. With Longclaw at his knee, he looked more a lord than ever. Lady Sansa sat to his left, dressed in dark green, which brought out the redness of her hair. Her cloak too was black, so she and her brother complimented one another. To Jon's right, Samwell Tarly sat, heavy bandages around the top of his arm. He looked pale, and one could hardly blame him-the process of removing an arrowhead from the flesh was vile-slowly pulling out the steel and dressing the wound with honey to stop infection. But he sat up straight, heavy books on the table before him, a pen poised in his left hand, for his right was currently far too painful to use.

At the sides of the hall, almost every man who resided at Winterfell, from Lord Selwyn to Northern soldiers from Last Hearth to White Harbour to as many freefolk as could fit inside the hall, sat at benches, ready to observe the trial. It was quite something to see such a large group so deadly silent.

Brienne sat beside Jaime, on a bench at the front, and close to the high table. Jaime had not wanted her to come, but she made it clear that she was not going to miss this for anything. She watched with grim satisfaction as Littlefinger was brought into the centre of the room. On her other side, her father sat, his presence a steady comfort. Behind her, Denys, his back straight, his hand on the hilt of his sword, by Pod, who was poised the same, only with less confidence. Brienne felt secure knowing they were there, but nowhere near as secure as the chains binding Littlefinger's wrists.

As Littlefinger drew close, she sensed both Jaime and her father move slightly closer to her, as if protecting her. But there was nothing Littlefinger could do to her now. It was over. It was all over. She trusted Jon, and she trusted Lady Sansa above all. Sansa deserved this.

As Littlefinger and his guard came to a halt, Jon slowly got to his feet. Instantly, all in the room rose, except the assembled freefolk, to whom it was not their custom to rise or bend to anyone. Jon did not remain standing for long, for it was not _his_ way. Quickly he sat down again, followed by all who had risen. With stern eyes, he regarded the man for whom all had assembled.

"Lord Petyr of House Baelish," he began. "You stand accused of treachery, treason and assault on this castle and all who live in it. You have betrayed the northern cause and posed a serious threat to the security of the realm by attempting to undermine my efforts to protect the living from the dead. Additionally-"

"I cannot be accused of treason, for you are no king." Littlefinger suddenly said, his voice echoing around the stone walls.

Sam stood up. "Jon is the King in the North! You will address him with due respect!"

There were general sounds of agreement throughout the hall.

Baelish snorted hard, his face contorted with rage. There was a wild look about him-the look of a desperate man. "That title has been dead for centuries! Calling yourself the King in the North means no more than if I were to call myself the King in the Vale!"

Jon did not blink. "I did not call myself king. I was chosen by the people, as Mance Rayder was," He shared a quick glance with Tormund, who nodded approvingly. "Also, Lord Baelish, as my sister reminded you yesterday, you are not even the lord of the Vale, so you are a far shot from ruling over anything more than an anthill." He looked at Lady Sansa, who gave him a small smile.

"You will speak only when you are spoken to!" Sam added, before finally sitting down. It was almost funny to hear his sweet, soft voice being so forceful. Bronn, who stood beside the accused, certainly noticed as he made a face of comical surprise, his eyes bulging out of his skull. Brienne saw that Jaime had to cough quickly so as not to laugh.

Littlefinger looked outraged at being addressed thus by _Samwell Tarly_ , but he fell silent, watching Jon warily.

Jon cleared his throat. "You were extended trust by myself and my sister, and you broke that trust beyond anything we could have imagined. Your crimes against the northern cause are unforgiveable. I have removed the heads of men for less…" He fingered the hilt of Longclaw. A shadow of fear quickly passed across Baelish's face-but he carefully dismissed it. He looked away from Jon, instead staring Lady Sansa squarely in the face. But she was looking at Jon, waiting. "…I did not believe that there was any need for a trial at all. My sister, your niece by law, however, felt differently. Sansa?"

Lady Sansa got to her feet. She looked down at Baelish. Brienne could see that he was silently appealing to her. But her face was set. "Lord Baelish. Your crimes are beyond the pale. You plotted against the North, attacked this castle, and beseeched me to turn from my family and duty to join you. You exploited my tolerance towards you, for I believed that your…esteem for my mother would keep just a little of your friendship for me. But now-I see that you were never my friend. Your plan to puppet an innocent child on the iron throne was sheer madness from the start, and your attempt to flatten any and all who stood in your way, including myself and my family, has made you a traitor to all in this room. Especially me, whom you claimed to wish to protect-even _love_." She stared him down, poison in her eyes. "You are incapable of love. You have disgraced the memory of my mother. I cannot imagine what she would do if she knew all you had done to me."

Brienne felt a huge rush of pride as Sansa had spoken so bravely. Baelish, on the other hand, had turned quite ashen. It was the mention of Lady Catelyn-suddenly, he seemed even smaller.

"I believe that all men deserve the dignity of a trial." Lady Sansa continued. "But you are a man without dignity and without honour. I do not believe that there is any need to continue. However, for the sake of my mother, to remind you what it is to be human and to have _compassion_ -I ask you this: Do you have anything to say in your defence?"

"This should be good…" Lord Selwyn muttered. He squeezed Brienne's knee supportively.

Baelish took his time. Taking several deep breaths, he stepped forward. He attempted to fold his hands in his habitual manner-but his chains prevented him from doing so. It seemed to be at this moment that he lost it. He truly lost it. His shoulders dropped, his back arched somewhat, his face fell into something as far from his composure as it was possible to be. " _Did I not just do exactly what you are planning to do when you march on Kings Landing and Queen Cersei_? To depose the monarch, to make the world better, to have the power we have worked for and deserve?" He looked almost like a madman. "I have more experience than anyone in this room ruling Westeros-I sat on the Small Council! I would be a vastly superior mentor for the child king-the realm would flourish under my guidance! But instead-" He glared, his face almost inhuman. "There is only a bastard obsessed with beings who have not been seen for thousands of years by anyone except the brothers of the Nights Watch, a little girl with no understanding of how the world works, a training maester with no chain who is unwelcome at his own table and a band of Wildling savages to watch over the bastard of the most hated man in the Seven Kingdoms and to make your futile attempt to shove him onto the throne! You are none of you fit to rule. You have no chance. Even your plans are ridiculous-you plan to ride for Kings Landing in a matter of weeks while your proposed successor to the Queen is still in the belly of the ugliest so-called woman in Westeros!"

A silence.

Brienne barely noted Baelish's words-it was nothing she had not heard before. Lord Selwyn knew this, merely reaching out to take her hand-but Jaime made to spring to his feet, his face filled with rage. Brienne had to shoot out her other arm to pin him down to his seat, clenching her muscles against his struggling. It was not important now.

Jon got to his feet. There was a quiet dignity surrounding him. He looked down at Baelish as if he was the lowest human he had ever seen. "If that is _all_ you have to say…" Looking up, Jon addressed the room. "It is my opinion that Lord Baelish is far too dangerous to be allowed to live among us, even as a prisoner. Therefore…I command you, Lord Baelish, to take the black. You are now and forever a brother of the Night's Watch, and you will never leave Castle Black for as long as you live. It seems only right that you should experience what is on the other side of the Wall for yourself-then you can write to me and tell me that the army of the dead should not be the focus of all of the Crown's energy now Winter is upon us. You will ride North tonight."

The moment Jon had stopped speaking-there was outcry. Every Wildling, led by Tormund, sprang to his or her feet and began to bay for blood. Every Stark, Karstark, Umber, Mormont and Manderly soldier stamped his feet and roared. Even Pod was on his feet, looking more enraged than anyone had ever seen him. Brienne remained seated, though her father had stood and was shouting in protest. She felt…she did not know how she felt…

"Order!" shouted Jon over the noise, his voice not quite booming enough to not be shrill. " _Order_!" When he realised he was being ignored-"SHUT UP!"

Finally, silence fell once again.

Jon was breathing hard, looking around in shock. Clearly, he had not expected such a reaction. Sansa, on the other hand, was looking as appalled as any man in the room. She was trying to catch Jon's eye. Sam too was shaking his head in disbelief. "It might not be wise, Jon-" Sam began. "He would only betray his brothers-He could never-"

" _He should_ _DIE_ _for this_!"

Jaime was still on his feet. His hand shook slightly, the veins throbbing in it. Normally so quiet in large settings, he shouted as loudly as he could. His green eyes were contorted with fury, his golden hair seeming almost electric. Looking almost as mad as the accused, Jaime stared Jon Snow down.

Jon looked back at him. Then at Littlefinger, whose eyes were fixed firmly on the floor. Then…back to Jaime. Suddenly-he sighed. With the air of a man who had fought too many battles recently, he drew Longclaw-then, lying the great sword across both of his hands, he offered it up to Jaime.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword." he said simply.

Jaime was silent. His blood seemed to have slowed, his hand becoming steady again. Quietly, he reached out and squeezed Brienne's shoulder, letting his fingers linger there as long as he could. Brienne felt a strange coolness beginning to fill her body in the silence. But, before more than a few moments could pass-Jaime nodded.

* * *

 _Sincerely yours…_

Denys dropped Qyburn's note into the flames of the huge fire in the great hall. He watched as they quickly turned the note to black, before consuming it completely. Qyburn had instructed him long ago to always burn all correspondence, no matter its nature. It was the safest way to live-especially as Qyburn lived…

Faking the Northern accent was becoming so bothersome he even irritated himself at the way he bleated his words. At least he enjoyed acting-whenever travelling players came to Lannisport, where he had grown up, he would drag his family to the large stage in the shade of Casterly Rock and watch, spellbound…he missed home dreadfully. Qyburn had sent him to Winterfell a year ago, to watch the workings of the North…and he had all but forgotten what it was like to be warm. He longed for the cool breeze from the sea, the music of the Lannisport markets, the sweet wine, the touch of the freckled shop-boy, the feel of his warm, golden hair beneath Denys' fingers…

He owed Qyburn. He owed him his life. It still felt strange whenever he touched that long, thick scar across his back from his fall…that terrible fall from the cliffs…He ought to have died. He ought to have at least been crippled, like the Stark boy. But…Qyburn worked in ways that no other maester would dream of-because he was no maester. There had been pain…pain like nothing Denys had thought possible…but he had lived. He had lived, and he had served him ever since.

There was money now. More money than ever before now Qyburn served the Queen…he saved all of it. And there would be more soon…much more… Denys stroked the hilt of the dagger Qyburn had given him long ago. He knew how sharp it was. All he had to do was thrust it into…

Denys felt a strange squirm in his stomach. He had never killed a child before-especially not one who had not yet even lived...But quickly, he swallowed it. He had a job to do. And he had to do it quickly.

* * *

That afternoon, the same crowd who had attended what was perhaps the quickest trial in history gathered in the courtyard at Winterfell. Quiet talking flooded the air. The snow lay thin on the ground today, large patches of crusted ice covering the gravel. Large quantities of snow and ice still lay scraped up against the walls, the accumulation of many days of snow and no air warm enough to melt it. Even the large wooden block, which had been brought out into the centre, was frosted.

Jaime was nervous. He had spent an hour practising swinging Longclaw, cutting bales of hay in the barn to ensure he would not make a fool of himself with his left hand, and with an unfamiliar blade. It was heavier even than Oathkeeper. He had forgotten old Ned Stark's habit of executing his own enemies rather than having a professional make a clean job of it. Of course he had passed it onto his children…

Brienne stood beside him, his scarlet cloak around her shoulders. He felt a small twinge of warmth-it gladdened his heart whenever he saw her wear it. The red rather washed her out, since she was so pale, but it did not matter. He wanted so badly to kiss her, for her kiss would give him courage, but it would not be appropriate at such an event. Besides, she was deep in conversation with her father, Lord Selwyn. Denys stood close by, looking, as usual, a whisper away from a smile. Jaime was unsurprised Brienne had taken to him-he had such a friendly face…

"…since Baelish will be gone," Selwyn was explaining. "that is one less threat to us."

Brienne was agreeing-but she was reserved. "The greatest threat lies in Kings Landing…"

Lord Selwyn sighed, taking his daughter's hand in both of his. "With any luck, my grandchild will be here before Cersei even gets wind of this. Everything is going to be fine, little bird. I know it is."

Brienne did not look convinced.

"Now, my love…" Selwyn kept hold of her hand. His eyes became earnest. "With the immediate danger gone…won't you reconsider marrying-"

But he did not finish his sentence. For, under heavy guard, led by Jon Snow…Littlefinger was lead from the dungeons to the block.

Silence fell across the courtyard. Jaime felt an acute jolt of nerves course through his entire body. Somehow, as Littlefinger neared him, he instinctively hid Longclaw behind his back, so that the condemned man could not see it. It seemed as if everything was moving twice as fast as usual-Littlefinger was already stood behind the block, a guard on each side. Jon Snow was already moving towards Jaime, cuing him to step forward.

"Good luck, son," Lord Selwyn patted his shoulder. Jaime started-then felt a strange sadness-he had not been spoken to or patted that way since the death of his father…but he found he was comforted. He turned to smile at the old man…before he shared a last look with Brienne. Her face was expressionless. But her eyes quietly supported him…that was all he needed.

Jaime stepped forward, until he was face to face with the condemned man. Littlefinger looked odd. He did not look exactly angry, nor exactly sad or fearful…but there was something in his eyes that struck Jaime to the core. It was the look of a man who already had one foot in the other side. It was the look of a dying man…to see that in a healthy man's face was something that almost made Jaime turn and walk away-but he stood his ground.

"In the name of Jon Snow, the King in the North…I, Jaime of House Lannister sentence you to die."

He managed to look Littlefinger straight in the eyes. The man merely stared back without really seeing. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was as far away from Winterfell as it was possible to be. It did not make it any easier. Jaime had almost forgotten every eye on him. It was just he, and his enemy, this block, and this sword.

"Any last words?"

Littlefinger said nothing out loud. But-his mouth began to move silently. Jaime wondered for a second whether he was praying-though that was never his way in life, men often prayed harder on their deathbeds than they ever had before. But he was not…Jaime could have sworn he made out the word " _Catelyn_ " on his lips…

Jon Snow must have given the order. Because suddenly, the guards either side of Littlefinger had grabbed his shoulders and forced him onto his knees, laying his neck on the block. Instinctively, Baelish struggled…but he went limp. It was so pathetic. Jaime wished to every god there was that he would fight, shout, anything but this resign, this martyr-like quietness. It was so much worse than anything else…

Jaime forced himself not to think. As quickly as he could, he raised Longclaw, swinging it behind him…before bringing it down hard-

There was a small gasp, some small rustlings from the watching crowd-and Littlefinger cried out in pain. Jaime realised that he had missed-he had driven the great sword deep into the back of his skull…silently, he cursed his left hand. As fast as he could, Jaime forced the sword from the bone, blood spurting out of the back of Baelish's head. It was a sickening sight-but Jaime could not allow himself to be distracted any more. Baelish went slack-perhaps he had fainted, or died already. Nevertheless, with a grunt, Jaime once again swung the sword and brought it down hard-and this time, he hit his target

Littlefinger's head fell to the ground in a pool of blood, his eyes still open and staring out at the world.


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello everyone! Thank you for sticking with me, and thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Please keep doing so, much love to all and more tomorrow xxx**

Another week passed. Another week at Winterfell. Baelish's corpse was burned, his head crudely sewn back on to give an ounce of dignity to his funeral. The smoke from his pyre rose high, twisting hauntingly on the harsh winter wind, as snake like as he had been in life.

Sam's arm began to heal, with mercifully no infection thanks to Gilly's rigorous applications of honey. Jon had decided to put off any movement south until he was fit to travel-something that was met with both gratitude from the concerned and anxious and frustration from the keen as the castle grew colder by the day. No matter how large or how intense the servants built the fires, no amount of fur could keep a person warm.

However, Brienne was grateful for the slow movement of Jon's plans. For every day the movements were stalled, she could lie beside Jaime, take her meals with him, talk to him, walk with him when the sun set and make love to him at night. She could pretend that their lives were ordinary, and that nothing was expected of their child…Jaime was the only person who seemed to understand. Jon was kicking his heels-he had been ready to go weeks ago, impatient to ensure the security of the realm. Brienne could do nothing but sympathize with him, wanting only the same...but she could not help but be glad. Every moment that they were not moving south was a moment when she could kid herself that their baby was safe.

But he was not. Every day his movements inside her became stronger. They only served to remind her that she was almost nearing her time-in less than three months she would give birth to a King. Her baby, hidden from the world, curled up safely in her, still so weak and helpless, would be out of her hands even as he lay in her arms...

"Mffffff?" Jaime slowly woke up, shifting the furs around them. He habitually wrapped his arm over her, almost hitting her in the face by mistake since he was still half-asleep. "You wake up too early" he croaked.

"I wake up sufficiently early." she replied, her voice far steadier. She had lain awake for some time, her mind pouring over the same few things...

"Mffffp." Jaime murmured, his eyes still closed. But he managed to find it in him to wrap his other arm around her. "Like a bloody farmer...and you make me a farmer too, always waking up at the crack of dawn..."

Brienne rolled her eyes, knowing he was teasing her. "If you are unhappy with any aspect of our sleeping arrangements, I'm sure Bronn will be more than happy to share his bed with you."

"Noooo..." Jaime held on tighter. "I could never leave you...and Bronn snores. Besides-" He leaned forward and kissed her. "Bronn wouldn't like that first thing in the morning."

"He might."

"Well, I don't intend to find out." Jaime gave a yawn, finally opening his eyes. He pulled her closer, his golden skin so warm against hers, his hand resting on her swollen belly. A smile spread over his face, his eyes becoming soft. "He's growing so fast...he must be strong."

"I hope so…" she mumbled.

"Of course he is, he is half a Lannister." Jaime smiled proudly. "Half a lion…and half his mother. Who is every bit as strong and fierce as a Lannister lion."

"Far more, I should think." She looked down, musing. " _Mother_ …I can't seem to get used to it. It does not suit me…"

"Of course it does," Jaime rolled his eyes, his smile still in place. "You are ridiculous. Nonetheless, I'm sure you will soon become accustomed…I suppose you don't remember your mother, so you never really had someone to call…I can hardly remember mine sometimes either…" He looked strange. "She can seem so hazy in my head, like I'm trying to look at her through a fog..."

Brienne found his hand and covered it with her own. "We had our fathers. That's more than some have."

"Yes, yes…" But now _he_ looked down. "Sometimes I wonder if my father was still alive, Cersei would not have-" He coughed slightly. "But perhaps it would have made no difference…Father barely escaped wildfire when the Mad King lived. He almost certainly would have been inside the sept-there is no way he would have missed a trial…" But he sighed, then looked up. "Well, perhaps he will live on through his grandson, hey?"

Brienne was jerked from quietly listening. "What do you mean?"

" _Tywin_. For his name, I mean." Jaime's voice had become considered. Clearly, he had been desperate to bring up this subject. He looked so earnest that Brienne could not bear to tell him what a terrible idea she thought that was. Tywin was so much of a… _Lannister_ name. She could imagine the realm supporting such a thoroughly Lannister king. Besides…she herself had already thought of the name she wanted…

"That's…a _good_ idea." she said carefully.

Jaime could see through her as easily as if she was made of glass. But he smiled. "You always were an appalling liar…Have you thought about it at all?"

Brienne took a deep breath. She knew what Jaime's reaction would be…but she had all but made up her mind. "Renly."

A pause-before Jaime began to laugh. "Seven hells, Brienne! What did the poor child ever do to you to deserve this?"

Brienne bristled. "Renly was good. And kind." She looked up at the ceiling. "He was the only man, besides my father, ever to treat me like a human...until you, of course. He deserves to be commemorated"

Jaime snorted. "I'll hand him that, but the Dothraki Sea will turn to snow and ice before I name my son after Renly bloody Baratheon!" He shook his head in disbelief. "Well, I still have weeks to convince you, so…"

Brienne knew when to give up. But she had already made up her mind. "And I you."

* * *

Sansa walked through the corridors, snow sticking to the hood of her cloak which swished on the floor behind her. Behind her, Pod felt as though he himself had been crowned king, sat on the Iron Throne as every man in the seven kingdoms bowed to him-though he could hardly imagine that it would be sweeter than this. To walk behind the Lady Sansa, to guard her, to be trusted with her protection-he could not believe that he had been given the job of a real knight. Though he was not a vain man, he loved walking past the other inhabitants of the castle, seeing them look at him as he carried out his task to the best of his abilities, so proud to serve. A hand on the hilt of his sword, he walked as tall as he could, his head high, his shoulders back. His face was solemn, for he was trying hard to copy Lady Brienne's most serious knightly expression (he had been practicing in the looking glass), but he couldn't stop his eyes shining. He felt as if he had flown all the way to the moon...

All too quickly, they reached the council room, where Jon Snow would be waiting. Pod was always a little saddened when their journeys around the castle came to an end-but it did not matter, for soon there would be another. All he had to do was guard the door, and when Jon had finished speaking with the Lady Sansa, he would take her back to her chamber-it was almost too exciting. Despite the bitter cold, he jumped out of bed every morning so he could be early to begin his duties-he had never once been late. He had to prove to everyone-but most of all himself-that he was every bit as good as the rest. Except Lady Brienne, of course. No one was as good as her.

"Thank you, Podrick." Sansa came to a halt at the door. Instantly, Pod sprang forward to knock for her, and then open the door when bid to do so.

"Thank _you_ , my lady!"

Sansa looked tired-but she gave a small smile. "There is no need to thank me. As we have discussed before." she said, as Jon called her into the council room. As gracefully as he could manage, he pulled the door open for her and held it until she had passed through. Carefully, he pulled it shut behind her, managing to make as little noise as possible. Straight away, he spun around, and stood readily with his back to the door, so he could see all around the corridor. Hand firmly on the hilt of his sword, he began his watch with a smile.

He felt a little guilty to be so chipper. The execution of Lord Baelish still hung over the castle as if his corpse was suspended from the rafters. It was not mourning by any stretch of the imagination. But there was a strange air nonetheless. Especially around Lady Sansa. It seemed as though she wanted to grieve for the man who had been her uncle by law, whom she had known closely for years. But she did not allow herself to. It was as if she refused to give Baelish the satisfaction. But even Pod often pictured Baelish's final moments even now, from where he had watched. His resigned demeanor, his silence after all the noise of his trial…and most of all, Ser Jaime's clumsy swing of the sword that had split his skull so sickeningly…

But still he stood straight and watchful, guarding the door. He would make Lady Brienne proud of him. And he would make himself proud.

* * *

"I shall have to ride for the Westerlands soon." Jaime murmured. "You know that?"

There was a small pause. "I know." Brienne nodded, her back to him so that he could not see her face. "I am not in fact oblivious." She polished her breastplate harder, so that her hand began to ache as her nails dug into her palm around the rag she used.

"I know you're not," Jaime said. He watched as she worked for a moment, his sword still balanced between his hand and arm. He had been sharpening it, though it was difficult with one hand. He did not miss the gold hand, but it had its uses. "You know, you should get Pod to do that for you."

"Pod has his own duties," said Brienne, still turned away from him. "Besides, I was polishing my own armour long before I had a squire."

Jaime shrugged. "Or Denys. I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

" _No_ , thank you," Brienne said. Her voice was monotone, but it was oddly thick. Her nails were wearing grooves in her palm. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own armour."

Jaime was silent for a moment. Carefully, he put his sword away, hooking the scabbard beneath his arm so he could secure the sword with his hand. Then, he put it down on the floor and looked up at Brienne. Well, at her back. She was polishing furiously. "Are you angry with me because I was rude about Renly?"

Brienne sniffed. "Hardly. It's not like you're the first. And I am not _angry_ with you." she snapped irritably.

Jaime had to force himself not to laugh. "No. Of course not. I can see that." He got to his feet, watching as her hand moved in tight circles, polishing her breastplate, faster and faster… "Here, let me-"

"No!" Brienne ignored him, speaking through her teeth. Her nails were really beginning to hurt her. That did not stop her though. "I do not need your help!" She polished harder, still refusing to look at him.

"Brienne." Jaime took a deep breath. Slowly, he reached for her arm, as if approaching an unpredictable dog. He kept his voice low and calm. "Stop." He touched her arm…and slowly, she stopped polishing. Carefully, he unclenched her hand and removed the rag, tossing it away. He could see bright red crescent-moon shaped marks on her palm. He sighed. "What are you doing?"

Brienne kept her eyes firmly on the floor. There was a short silence. But finally…"West." she muttered.

Jaime carefully took her hand, rubbing the red marks with his fingers. "I have to go. You know I have to go."

"No. You don't."

"I do!" He sighed, frustrated. He was getting so sick of this saga. "Brienne, you can't keep doing this!"

"It's another step." she said to the floor. Her voice had become even thicker, so that she had to force out her words. "It's another step to King's Landing."

"I know!" Jaime struggled hard not to raise his voice. "I know! Everyone in this castle knows that you don't want this to happen. But it _has_ to happen, Brienne. It's _going_ to happen. And you need to find some way to make peace with it, otherwise you will go insane! And I with you!"

"I will _never_ make peace with it." Brienne hissed. "And I cannot believe that you have."

" _Do you think I like this_?" Jaime lowered his voice to a mutter. "Do you think I don't wish every day that we had gone to Pentos?" He sighed hard, running his hand through his hair. "Do you think I want my child on the throne? But we can't always have what we want. Sometimes-" He took a deep breath. "Sometimes we have to do things, even though they're wrong for us, for the _greater good_. Please, Brienne, you have to understand?"

Brienne still refused to look at him. With difficulty, she stooped to the floor to retrieve the rag. Then, with less fury than before, she continued to polish her breastplate.

Jaime rolled his eyes. He could not believe her attitude-for a woman to whom duty meant life or death, she was blank point refusing to cooperate with what was perhaps the most important campaign she would ever be a part of. Her stubbornness was something he loved and admired most about her, but now it upset him. He was furious with himself for never managing to find the right words to convince her, or even comfort her for more than a few moments. As he watched her, painstakingly cleaning her armour, her mouth a line of effort, he wished to every god there was that he could find the way.

"I have to go West. You know better than anyone how little I want to leave you...I'd take you with me if I could, but we both know that as much as you hate it, you _cannot_ travel that distance to the Stony Shore by horse. It's much too dangerous. But...you will see me at Harrenhal. I'll come the moment I know you are there. But it is safer for you in the North-safer for our child-so you have to let us make the South safe for him before he comes into the world."

"Denys agrees with you." Brienne said suddenly, breaking her silence.

"Denys is a good lad." Jaime agreed.

"He thinks Jon Snow will triumph over Cersei. He thinks that the kingdom will love the king who leads them through winter, against…the Others." she said stiffly. "That their love and gratitude would keep him safe."

Jaime felt a small pang-why hadn't _he_ thought to say that? "Really?" he said.

"Yes…" Brienne stopped polishing, though she still would not look at Jaime.

"You trust Denys, don't you?" Jaime took a step towards her, sensing hope. "You trust his judgement?" _More than mine?_

"I…I'm not sure," Brienne muttered. "But…"

"Listen to Denys, Brienne," Jaime said, gently laying his hand on her arm. "He's right. Of course the people will love the king who rules over this Winter and sees them through it. And, for a king, winning the love of his subjects is half the battle,"

Brienne still did not look convinced. Jaime couldn't help but feel a little glad that the words of another man had not managed to win her over much more than his. This news made him feel slightly better.

"Denys is no liar," Brienne said. "But he is too innocent. He knows so little of the world…"

"He knows enough of the world to know that Jon's plan is the best thing for the realm. And…" He lowered his voice comfortingly. "that our baby will be kept safe at all costs." He managed a quick smile. " _Renly_ , or whatever you will insist on naming the poor child…oh gods, Brienne, does it have to be _Renly_?"

* * *

Pod stood dutifully, despite the fact his feet were beginning to ache. He rather enjoyed that feeling these days-it reminded him that he was doing his job as well as he could. Allowing himself a quick, quiet smile, he quickly made his face a mask of serious responsibility, tightening his hand on the hilt of his sword. His back was beginning to hurt from standing so straight, but he ignored this, his eyes sweeping the corridor-

Suddenly-a figure appeared. A guard with dark hair and chubby cheeks-and a strange expression. He was sloping along the corridor, dragging his feet, his head down, his eyes fixed on his hands…and in those hands-a dagger. A dagger he could not seem to stop running his hands over, as if it was made of running water…

"Denys?" Pod called to him. He drew a few inches of steel from the scabbard. "Something wrong?"

Denys' head snapped up. As his eyes settled on Pod-he smiled. "Pod! Look at you, all grown up and handsome!" Slipping the dagger carefully into his pocket, he practically skipped over, his dimples flashing. "Oh, you really deserved this! I'm so happy for you! You look like a regular knight!"

Pod felt his cheeks flush a delicate pink, from both modesty and pleasure-but, remembering Lady Brienne and his duty, he quickly reset his face. "Shouldn't you be on duty?" he questioned the young guard.

"I-I'm on my way now!" Denys grinned, winking. "Look at you, putting me in my place! Oh be gentle with me, _Ser_ Podrick Payne, I've never been with a knight before-oh, your face!" Denys roared with laughter. It was so infectious that Pod could not help but smile. He liked Denys-everyone did. But…something twinged. Something did not feel right…

"Denys, what were you doing with that dagger?"

Denys blinked at him, eyes wide, confusion flooding his face. "My dagger?" He smiled again. "How am I supposed to be a guard if I have no weapons? I'm flattered that you think I could defend Lady Brienne with my bare hands, but I'd rather not play dangerous games with the life of our future king!"

Pod smiled back tightly. "Best get back to my lady." he said stiffly.

"Of course, _Ser_ Pod." Denys bowed low, with another wink. "See you at dinner!" He waved cheerfully as he exited the corridor the same way he had entered.

Pod stared after him. Still, something odd stirred in his stomach…

* * *

"Oh Brienne…please, for the sake of the Mother's mercy, do not name my son _Renly_. I beg this and only this of you. _Not bloody Renly_!"

Denys stood quietly outside the door. He felt a pang of annoyance-he had been counting on Ser Jaime being in the council chamber with Jon Snow, leaving Lady Brienne alone in her chamber. All he would have had to do is get close enough to her to plunge the dagger… he sighed heavily. Having spent all morning wandering the castle, psyching himself up to do it, he felt incredibly frustrated that the adrenaline rushing through his blood would now go to waste.

Quickly, he spun around to face away from the door, standing up straight and placing his hand around the hilt of his sword. He played the part well-well, at least he did not make the laughable growly grimace Pod did in an effort to look intimidating. Perhaps Jaime would leave soon…but perhaps the dagger was not the right weapon…he did not think he was smart enough to be able to poison her undetected, and he was not strong enough to push her from anywhere, or hold her long enough to suffocate her in her sleep…gods, why did she have to be such a _beast_ of a woman? A dagger it was…and he had to do it quickly. He shifted his weight to the other knee, fingering the blade of the dagger…it was long and sharp. It would be over in a matter of moments…

Tonight. It had to be tonight.


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Honestly, thank you so much, it means so much that you take the time to do those things! Much love to all and more tomorrow :) I am glad you all think that the worst thing Brienne and Jaime could be trusted to do is name a child :P ahahahaha! xxx**

Cersei was standing in the sept, thin sunlight beaming in from the high windows, giant statues of the seven rising high towards the domed ceiling, the seven-pointed star beneath her feet. Only…her feet were not on the floor. She was rising…she was rising into the air…Suddenly, she could feel hair around her shoulders-long, straw-coloured golden hair…and it was hers. It was completely hers, hanging loose past her shoulders, tickling her back, so light and flowing…and none could take it from her. She rose higher, as if carried by an invisible force. She was flying…and it was _glorious_. She was so warm.

Cersei was naked, but she did not care, for she was alone, alone, and covered by her hair. It shone so brightly in the sunlight. She did not feel tired, her bones did not ache, her heart was glowing as she looked around, bathed in the golden light of the sun…it was such a beautiful Summer…Summer? If it was Summer…why was there snow on the ground?

She tried to lean forward to get a closer look, but she kept rising. Nonetheless, that was snow. Snow on the floor of the sept, covering the seven-pointed star, emitting a strange blue glow…she had not seen snow since her journey to Winterfell with Robert, all those years ago…to see Eddard Stark…Ned Stark…Ned Stark…he had appeared. Suddenly, stood in the centre of the star, Ned had appeared out of nowhere, his head and body as one, a greatsword in his hand. He was ghostly pale…and for some reason-perhaps it was the light of the snow…his eyes were brightest blue…

She turned from him-but…someone else had appeared.

Suddenly-she could see Joffrey. Joffrey was there, Joffrey stood on the floor of the sept. He wore the golden clothes he had died in, a stag crown on his head, a goblet in his hands…but…just like Ned, his eyes, instead of their green, had turned the brightest blue. Beside him-his sister. Myrcella was beautiful-but her skin, was ghostly, and her green eyes bright blue…and beside them…Tommen…but he was so _small_ …this was a Tommen from many, many years ago. He could be no older than five or six, his peaky little face looking up at her earnestly…and his eyes…blue.

They were not just blue. They were so bright they glowed, seeming to cast streams of blue light straight up to her…

She turned from them in fear, from Ned, from everything cold, everything dark, everything…but it was so hot…so hot…the flames burned her, burned _everything_ , burning, burning, burning-

Cersei awoke in a cold sweat. Eyes wide, she opened her mouth to scream…but the horror was gone. Only the red canopy above her bed, dappled with sunlight from the open window. Her vision cleared until she was sure that she was simply in her chamber, and it was finally morning. She did not want to recall her dream…but it flashed before her eyes, like ravens flying back and forth carrying terrible news…

The silence was deafening as Cersei got up, washed quickly, and began to dress herself. There was not a single maid in the Red Keep she could still bear the sight of, let alone permit to touch her…no one could touch her. She could not stop thinking about those bright blue eyes…it was a relief to see her green ones in the mirror…Jaime's eyes, though. They were Jaime's…

Cersei walked briskly over to her table, where the jug and cup waited as always. She poured the sweet, burgundy liquid, taking comfort in the familiar sound. Raising the goblet to her lips, she drank deeply, and, as if taking medicine, did not stop until the cup was empty. It was just a dream…she would get some essence of nightshade from Qyburn for tonight. There was no time to worry about dreams…

She opened the door of her chamber to find Ser Gregor waiting, as usual. He followed her, his heavy footsteps echoing from the walls, such was his enormity. It did not take long to reach the small council chamber.

"Your grace," Qyburn got to his feet, a smile spreading across his strange face. "the best of afternoons to you."

"And to you," said Cersei briskly, sitting down in her chair, and inviting him to resume his with a sweep of her hand. "Have we received any news from our friend in the North?"

"None but to inform me that your instructions were received and understood."

Cersei rolled her eyes, a hand pinching her forehead. "So it still lives? And the whore?"

Qyburn smiled. "Perhaps, your grace. Although it is unlikely that our young friend could send conformation right away. He must go undetected. Otherwise, I lose my-our little bird who whispers from the North. It is possible that the child and its mother are already dead."

Cersei sniffed. "I shall relax when I read the news for myself…" She poured herself another glass of wine from the jug on the table. Slowly, she took a sip, staring into the dark liquid. "How difficult could it be to kill a tavern whore? Surely all he has to do is hire her services and kill her as she sleeps?"

Qyburn looked up, frowning. "A tavern whore, your grace?"

"Not a tavern whore?" Cersei raised her eyebrows. "How low did Jaime stoop? A maid?"

Qyburn looked grave-but his eyes shone. "Not low, your grace. The mother of your brother's bastard is a highborn woman."

Cersei paused, her goblet half way to her lips…a _highborn girl_? She felt a stabbing pain in her stomach…it was so easy to dismiss a tavern whore… "Which highborn girls reside in the North?" She thought hard. "Doesn't House Reed have a daughter?" She put down her wine cup. "House Mormont-but Lady Lyanna is a child…" Suddenly-a terrible thought occurred to her. " _Sansa Stark_?"

"No, your grace. None of those."

Cersei relaxed a fraction-the thought of Jaime lying with Sansa Stark…but then- "Who is it, then?"

"Not a Northerner, your grace,"

Cersei frowned, her hand still gripping her goblet. "Which house?"

"Tarth."

Cersei paused-then shook her head. "No. Lord Selwyn has only one surviving child. Was it a woman from the Stormlands, you mean? There is no other house on the Sapphire isle-someone from Shipbreaker Bay?"

Qyburn looked a little put-out-but quickly, he smiled again. "It is the child of Lord Selwyn, your grace."

Cersei tilted her head to one side. "Does Lord Selwyn have any bastards? I would not be surprised. Bastards are not exactly high-"

"Not a bastard, your grace. Apologies for interrupting you, your grace." he said quickly. "I had no right."

"No," Cersei waved his apology away. "But he has no surviving child but that beast Lady Brienne, and it cannot be her. Does Lord Selwyn have another daughter? I didn't think so."

"It _is_ Lady Brienne, your grace."

Cersei said nothing for a few moments…she looked into her wine cup…then laughed. "Qyburn, the time and place for joking is not the small council room."

"No joke, your grace."

Cersei looked up. She looked straight into the eyes of her hand…and saw nothing but sincerity…A sinking feeling filled every cell of her body, as if she was shrinking down to nothingness. She stared at Qyburn for any signs that he was mistaken, or that he was unsure, or even jesting, or…but nothing. Nothing but honesty.

"This…" Cersei found that her tongue had caught in her throat. "This is _certain_?"

"Yes, your grace. Beyond any doubt."

Cersei felt as though her heart had dropped from her chest onto the floor. The face of Lady Brienne flashed across her mind, the laughable contradiction of her-the shorn yellow hair, the muscles beneath her man's attire, the way she bowed and walked like a soldier…those bright blue eyes… "This is…" Cersei found that she could not breathe properly. "This is…this is _ridiculous_."

"This is true, your grace," Qyburn solemnly nodded. "Our friend in the north confirms it. He reports-"

But Qyburn was cut off-as Cersei threw her goblet at the wall. It hit with a huge crash, and shattered, wine spilling from the wall to the floor, pooling, shards of metal scattered.

* * *

As Jaime left the council chamber at Winterfell, a hand fell on his shoulder. "Walk with me." It was Lord Selwyn. Jaime was a little surprised-but he nodded, following the old lord through the corridor and down the stairwell. He felt an odd sensation inside-he always felt a little awkward around Selwyn. He supposed it was the bright blue eyes-Brienne's eyes-staring right through him…

They did not go outside, for it was far too cold to make unnecessary excursions, but Selwyn lead the way down, down, further into the heart of Winterfell than Jaime had ever been. It was icy there, the stones freezing; the last time they saw sunlight was at the time of Bran the Builder, centuries ago. It was deathly silent here-the activity of the castle seemed miles above them as they climbed lower and lower…

Finally, Selwyn stopped. He turned a corner. Jaime followed him, a slight pang in his gut, like he was not supposed to be here. But nonetheless, he came forward-and was suddenly faced with a long, dark corridor. There were torches, burning softly, at intervals…human shapes, standing so still…impossibly still…before Jaime realised. They were statues. He realised, with a start, that they stood inside the Winterfell crypt.

Without obvious discomfort, Selwyn walked forward casually, motioning for Jaime to follow. Taking a deep breath-he did so, though every step felt as though he was wading through water. He remembered from his last visit to Winterfell, with Cersei and Robert Baratheon, that every dead Stark was buried down here, and that the statues of long-dead Kings in the North had iron swords in their laps…but since Cersei had refused to step foot here, neither had he. It was beautiful, in a strange, haunting, gloomy way. He could see the most recent tombs…the young Rickon Stark's tomb was very small compared to the rest. He felt a pang as he looked at the final resting place of the dead child, thinking of Tommen…Ned Stark himself must be here somewhere…Robb, the young wolf…he _should_ be here, under a statue…Brandon Stark, murdered by the Mad King, was here too, with his sister, Lyanna… But Jaime found that Lord Selwyn had stopped in front of young Rickon Stark's tomb.

Lord Selwyn gave a small bow, respectful of the little lord. He sighed. "There is no sadder sight than the grave of a child."

Jaime gave a small grunt of agreement, thinking of his own children, buried under the ruins of the sept...

"I burned my Galladon." said Lord Selwyn. His voice had become oddly distant. "Couldn't bear to leave him in the ground…floated his ashes on the air out to sea…"

Jaime felt awkward. He did not know to whom Selwyn referred. But Selwyn seemed to sense this.

"My son. Brienne's brother."

Something stirred in Jaime's memory. He seemed to remember Brienne mentioning a brother, perhaps long ago…a brother who had died as a child.

"An…accident." Selwyn said, flatly. "Ten, he was…about the same age as this one…"

Jaime felt a sinking feeling. "I…I'm sorry." he mumbled.

Selwyn sniffed. "You and I both know how futile those words are."

Jaime swallowed. He looked down at Rickon's tomb. "Brienne doesn't speak of him."

"No." Selwyn shook his head, his teeth gritted. "We never did. Couldn't, at first…and now don't…" He pressed his lips together. "I can still see them now…I'd spend days with Gall on the beaches, teaching him to fight with sparring swords…and behind him, always Brienne, with her wooden toy sword, copying his every move…" A weak smile played around his lips. His eyes had a far-away look, as if it was still happening before them. "Anytime the ladies couldn't keep her inside, she followed him everywhere. It used to annoy him no ed. Always fighting, they were, covered in bruises...By the time she was eight you couldn't tell her it wasn't proper for a lady to fight-she'd nod, then run straight out to the yard to find Gall again. That was around the time I began to teach them _both_. Gall didn't like it much-I think he could see that she was better-but he soon grew used to it-they'd practise together more diligently than any training soldiers I'd ever seen. Had to physically tear them apart to get them to go to bed at night-then they were first up every morning, swords in hand, on the beaches…" Selwyn gave a sigh. "It doesn't get any easier. Time is no healer. No healer at all. It never gets easier…you simply learn how to manage it better."

Jaime was silent for a long moment. Then… "I know…"

Selwyn looked back at him. "I burned two girls too…I burned the last girl...with her mother…"

Jaime found that his blood had run cold.

"Brienne never stopped." said Selwyn. His voice sounded very forced now. "Even after Gall died, she ran down to the beach every day, fighting the wind, the sea, the sand-anything. And when I could finally bear to teach her again, she was even fiercer than before. She never stopped…"

Jaime did not know what to say. Finally, he managed: "She is the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms…"

Selwyn breathed out, a kind of pride in him. But, still, he looked grave. He looked down at Rickon's tomb. "Her time is getting closer." he murmured. "I can give my life to protect her from a sword, a dagger, an arrow…but there is nothing I can do for her on the childbed. I…" His voice sounded most unnatural. If he had been that kind of man, Jaime was sure he might have cried. Selwyn took a deep breath. "I am not sure I can stand to lose Brienne. She is in…so much danger. From Cersei, from any schemer like Littlefinger, from nature itself…You know her mother died giving-"

Jaime's heart had turned to ice. " _Don't_ -" he choked out.

"You are a fool if you refuse to face this," Selwyn said, his voice suddenly military. "Trust me. It is worse if you choose to live in blissful ignorance and the worst happens…" But he reached out a hand, and laid it on Jaime's shoulder, softening his tone again. "I don't want you to go through what I did…"

Jaime could not describe how he felt. Here, again, that fatherly concern he had missed…

"If…if the child survives but…but we lose her," Selwyn managed to say. But his eyes were stern. "You must carry on. You must carry on for his sake. You have no choice. It will seem… _impossible_. It seemed impossible for me...but I had two children. I had to carry on teaching them to fight and be strong. I had to find a way. And so must you."

Jaime could hardly begin to think. His mind seemed to have clouded itself against what Selwyn was suggesting. But… "And…and if we lose them both?"

Selwyn tightened his grip on Jaime's shoulder. "Then you and I can fall into darkness together."

* * *

Denys crept back along the corridor. Silver steel shone at his side.


	24. Chapter 24

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! I was nervous posting the last chapter in particular, as some of Selwyn's words were quite personal to me, so I was especially grateful for the feedback. Please continue to do so! You guys are honestly the best-much love to you all. MORE TOMORROW! xxxx**

Denys gritted his teeth as he climbed the final staircase towards Brienne's chamber. He found a strange twisting feeling had cemented itself in his gut. But still, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He fingered the blade again, having to jerk his hand away from it to avoid getting cut. It was so sharp. Sharp blades were kinder…much less messy…he had sharpened it out of respect for the Lady Brienne. It was difficult to spend months with someone, then watch them suffer. He wanted it over quickly for her.

Lady Brienne…it was _complicated_. He felt he had played his part too well when it came to her. She trusted him so entirely…he had come to look forward to seeing her, grown accustomed to her strange manner and even treasured her rare smiles. Worse, he had watched the child inside her grow…but he closed his eyes. He tried to forget _who_ he was going to kill. It was just a job. Just another job. He could not back out now…

Finally-here was the corner. In a moment, he would be able to see her door. Before proceeding, he quickly took stock-his horse was saddled and ready, the bag on his back packed, ready to escape as fast as he could to White Harbour, and take the first ship to Kings Landing, then, finally, home to Lannisport. All was prepared. It would take a couple of hours for anyone to realise what had happened-and by then, he would be far away.

Taking a deep breath-he walked on.

"Denys?"

There was Brienne's door-but, stood in front of it, his little hand clutching the hilt of his sword, floppy dark hair over his face, was Podrick Payne. He was looking straight at Denys, his eyes narrowed.

Denys felt a pang of annoyance-typical. But, quickly, he plastered a smile on his face. "Pod! I think you're in my spot!" he sang. Casually, he strode up to him, standing with his weight on one hip. "Move over then. Shouldn't you be guarding Lady Sansa, you naughty boy?"

Pod did not smile. It was peculiar to see his dear little face so serious. "Ser Bronn is covering for me. I felt needed here. Since you were neglectful enough to leave my lady unguarded." He looked daggers at Denys. "I shall have to report you to Jon Snow."

Denys forced a merry laugh. "Oh Pod! I can't have been gone for more than a few minutes!"

Pod was unamused. "You are fortunate that my lady is asleep."

"Asleep?" _Perfect_. "Bless her heart. It can't be easy-she must be exhausted. Gods, I'm glad I'm not a woman, aren't you? Awful business, having children. I could never hack it myself. Can _you_ imagine pushing a whole other human out of your-"

Still, Pod stared straight at him. He spoke as if reading from a book. "To leave my lady asleep and unguarded is unforgivable. If there had been danger, she could hardly have defended herself while sleeping. Especially in her…" Pod coughed a little. "condition."

Denys felt a little concern seep into him. Brienne was sleeping-the timing on his part was perfect. But he had to get rid of Pod. "I'm ever so sorry," he simpered, his eyes sincere. "I have acted shamefully. Please, tell Jon Snow, I deserve it. I was just-"

"-staring at your dagger." Pod finished for him.

Denys forced another laugh. "You make me sound like a right nutter!"

Pod continued to eye him. He looked down at Denys' pocket-then snorted. "House Payne are bannermen of House Lannister. I've spent my whole life looking at Lannister swords, Lannister armour, everything Lannister gold can buy. Do you not think I know a Lannister weapon when I see one?"

Coldness filled Denys-but he made himself keep laughing. "I don't know _what_ you're talking about, Podrick! Gods, I think you need more sleep. Have you spoken to little Samwell Tarly about getting some essence of nightshade? It might be a good idea if your mind is uneasy at night-"

"Stop it," said Pod, bravely. He took a step towards Denys, lowering his voice to a hiss. "You know that none of the other guards had any idea who you were until a few months ago? No one had heard of you before then. You didn't exist in the North until last year. I have been asking around." He took another step towards him, now having to look up at him. "There was no Denys at Winterfell until Jon Snow took the castle back from the Boltons-allies of House Lannister. That was about when you appeared here, wasn't it?"

Denys forced himself to laugh as best he could. "Oh Pod, I think you've been reading too many-"

"I know what you are." Pod said boldly. "You work for the crown, don't you?"

He stared up at Denys, unblinking.

Denys did not know what to say. So, instead of saying another word on the matter-he reached down, and drew his sword.

Fear flashed through Pod's eyes as he realised what had happened. He looked Denys up and down, sizing him up…Denys was bigger, and stronger, than Pod would ever be. But-Pod's face was suddenly set. With a heroic grimace-he ripped his own sword from its scabbard and held it up, ready to fight. "You will n-never go near my lady again!" he said bravely, his voice shaking slightly.

Denys raised an eyebrow. "No, I won't. Just this _one last time_." And, knowing he would make short work of the steadfast little toy soldier Pod-he lunged.

* * *

Cersei turned her goblet over and over in her hand. It was empty-she needed to refill it-but it seemed like so much effort. Her legs felt so heavy, nothing like in her dream yesterday…besides, the wine had thankfully already put a pleasing haze over her vision. Perhaps it was the fact that she had not eaten that day-the wine had a far better effect. She even felt almost peaceful.

Brienne of Tarth…her face passed through Cersei's mind in a haze…it was impossible for her to imagine… _Brienne of Tarth_ …the Maid, the Beast, the one whom every man in the Seven Kingdoms sarcastically called the _Beauty_ … She could not understand it. _How_ …how could Jaime…? It was so completely ridiculous, she wanted to laugh…

Then again…perhaps it made sense. She knew they were close…she remembered, at Joffrey's wedding, watching Brienne, fascinated by her, the way she held herself like a knight, bowed rather than curtseyed, the way she made such long strides, kept her sword by her side…the way she had looked at Jaime. It was…not quite the way that all women seemed to look at Jaime. She did not seem to see his handsomeness, or if she did, it was not important to her. As Brienne looked at him, it was as if she was looking right into him, seeing him in a way that the giggling girls who stared after him did not...Cersei had choked a little into her wine goblet. It had seemed hilarious, so when they had briefly spoken Cersei could not resist making her squirm…" _but you love him"_ …Brienne's face had been priceless.

But she had never thought of it _seriously_. Brienne of Tarth was the opposite of a threat. Though she may love Jaime, it would beyond any doubt remain unrequited. It was funny, that was all, to watch this beast of a woman watching Jaime, the tiger turned kitten. And Jaime, having made such a journey, having not seen Cersei for months…perhaps any woman who looked at him that way was tempting…men were so easily weakened.

It hardly mattered whether Jaime's moment of weakness had happened with a highborn girl or a peasant in a field. She would die…Cersei quietly hoped that Qyburn had sent a strong man to take out such a beast. But she would die, and the bastard with her, and Jaime would come back to her. it was not as if he loved her at least-she doubted that anyone could love such a woman. Jaime would come back to her-he would be here, beside her, where he belonged, where he had _always_ belonged.

Jaime was hers. They had no one but one another. They had come into this world together, and nothing- _nothing_ -would ever part them.

* * *

Denys carefully yanked his sword out of Pod, watching as the blood spurted out of the unconscious man. He could see his eyes, just about half-open, but unseeing. Pod was a crumpled mess on the floor. He would slit his throat on the way back out to make sure he would never share what he had found out. For now though…Denys turned his back on the bleeding toy soldier. Without making a sound, he hurried over to the door.

As quickly as he could, he slipped off both his boots, so that he could walk into Brienne's chamber without awakening her. He could not hear any movement on the other side of the door, so it was safe to assume that the lady had slept through the scuffle outside. Denys could only hope that she would never again awaken. It made his job so easy. He found he was breathing hard from the fight, so he tried hard to control his breathing. Adrenaline was pumping through his blood as he slowly, as quietly and carefully as he could, turned the lock on Brienne's door, before carefully inching it open.

The chamber was completely silent, apart from steady female breaths coming from the bed. Brienne lay, fully clothed, half on and half off the soft furs-clearly, this nap had been involuntary. Even her boots were on. Her skin was so smooth and pale, though her cheeks blossomed with a little colour, her lips rose pink. She breathed deeply, peacefully, her chest rising and falling, her hand resting on her swollen belly. She looked so…but Denys closed his mind to everything but the dagger in his hand.

Inching forward as fast as he could, making almost no noise, he approached her, his hand clasping the hilt of his dagger. When he drew close enough…he brought the dagger to his chest. He looked down at her, so quiet and still…suddenly, it occurred to him that he had not thought about _where_ to stab her. He was at too close range to drive the dagger through her ribs into her heart, he was not strong enough…her throat? Her throat was safest…but if he aimed so close to her face, perhaps she would wake up and all would be ruined…his eyes drifted down…before they came to rest on her belly.

A pang hit him- _no_. He couldn't. And yet…the adrenaline pumped through his blood. It would be so _fitting_ …

Denys took a last look at the Lady Brienne-the greatest fighter he had ever seen, the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms…before, with a slightly heavy heart…he took aim. His eyes firmly on his target, blocking her face from his vision, he raised the dagger high above his head…

Before he could think any more-he stabbed.


	25. Chapter 25

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! It means the world, and love you all! I won't keep you any longer-more tomorrow! xxx**

* * *

The dagger flew through the air…and-

Suddenly-Denys was thrown sideways. The dagger missed Brienne completely and plunged hard as he fell to the floor with a crash. It was left, sticking up out of the mattress, the sharp blade sunken deep, the hilt glinting. Denys looked up in shock, feeling a sharp pain in his hip where he had hit the ground…then something hit his head hard, and everything went...

* * *

Brienne's eyes snapped open at the sound of the crash. Instantly, she sat up, her arm shooting out for Oathkeeper-but her hand hit something else. She twisted around-and gasped as she saw the dagger, the blade buried deep in the mattress, inches from her. Then-she heard a sound from the floor. She looked over the side of the bed-and cried out in shock.

"M…lady…" Pod was looking up at her from the floor, his eyes unfocused. He was…he was pale as death and…and covered in _blood_. He was lying on top of someone. "The…the…" But, before he could say another word-he collapsed, lifeless, onto the body beneath him.

" _Podrick_!" Brienne shot to her feet, kneeling to the floor-she could not understand…but, suddenly…she realised whom he was lying on. Unconscious on the floor, a huge red mark on his face where he had been punched hard enough to black him out, Pod's blood dripping onto him…was Denys. She almost screamed-there was so much blood, blood on the floor, blood all over both of her protectors…

The next thing she knew-her door had been thrown open. In charged Jaime and Lord Selwyn, swords drawn, terrified expressions, followed by four Winterfell guards. "Brienne!" Jaime ran to her side. "What happened? Someone heard the sound of _fighting_ up here!"

"I…I don't know!" Brienne was clueless-and frantic. She had eyes only for Pod and Denys, who lay motionless on the floor.

Selwyn moved over to the bed-and grabbed the dagger. " _Whose dagger is this_!" he thundered.

Jaime looked at Brienne, fear flooding his face. "Brienne? What-?" He looked down at Pod and Denys, who lay tangled on the floor, covered in blood. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Brienne felt sick. She realised that the dagger had landed inches from her…hardly able to breathe, her hands wrapped themselves around her belly, as her blood turned to ice. Someone…someone had tried to kill her baby…someone had tried to kill her baby as she slept…

"It must have been one of _them_." Selwyn gestured frantically at Pod and Denys. He looked crazed, searching desperately for answers. He hesitated for a moment-before pointing at the four guards, who were beginning to lift the two unconscious guards from the floor. " _What are you_ _doing?"_

"Taking them to Samwell Tarly!" one guard called, looking scared. Selwyn looked so dangerous, it was almost as though smoke was pouring from his nostrils. "They need a maester!"

" _You idiots!_ " Selwyn yelled. " _Someone here just tried to kill my daughter_!"

Jaime seemed to go weak for a moment as he slowly realised what had happened. He fell to his knees beside Brienne, wrapping his arms around her. " _Oh gods_ …" he whispered, his voice shaking. " _Oh gods_ …"

But Brienne, gently shrugging him off, slowly, got to her feet, her hands still wrapped around her belly. She watched as the guards looked at one another-before glancing apologetically at Lord Selwyn and taking Pod and Denys away. Lord Selwyn was furious. Leaving the dagger on the bed, he began to hurry after them. " _They just tried to kill my daughter_!" he shouted, his face growing red with fury. " _They'll die for this! They'll DIE for this or I will kill them myself!"_ He disappeared around the corner, his shouts still echoing off the walls.

Brienne did not know what to do. She looked from the dagger-to the bed-to the floor-back to Jaime.

Jaime had gone pale. He rushed over to the dagger, picking it up and studying it. "This…this is _Lannister_ -made…"

Brienne felt a horrible sinking feeling. "…House Payne are a vassal of House Lannister…"

Jaime looked up at her, his face ashen. " _Not_ Pod. _Surely_ not Pod…"

Brienne did not know what to think. She felt sick-her mind kept flicking from Pod to Denys and back again… "I…I don't know."

"Brienne." Jaime strode over to her, putting his hands gently, but firmly, on her shoulders. His eyes were oddly shiny as he looked at her, filled with fear. "What _exactly_ do you remember?"

Brienne thought hard, but her mind was so foggy… "I…there was…there was a crash…and…they were on the floor…and Pod said…well, he tried to say something….then-they both blacked out." She shook her head, furious, confused, close to tears. "Why would _either_ of them try to kill my baby?"

Jaime looked up at her, his face suddenly terrified. "Is…is that what was going to-"

"Of _course_ it was!" Brienne buried her face in her hands. "I…I don't believe it…" She could barely speak. "I…I don't believe _either_ of them…I can't-but you said that's a _Lannister_ weapon?" Her heart turned to ice. "Jaime...it's… _Cersei_ …" She looked straight at Jaime. "Cersei did this...I _knew_ it would happen sooner or later! I _knew_ it! Jaime, we can't let them put our baby on the throne! He's going to die..." She could hardly breathe. "I know he's going to _die_! He almost died _today_ -and Cersei will only try again-he's going to _die_ -he's-""

Jaime wrapped his arms around her tightly, stopping her mouth. He tried to comfort her-but his own hands were shaking. He looked as though he was undergoing extreme pain. Finally, he managed to open them again. "…I don't know what to do." he murmured. "I don't know…Oh Brienne." Jaime held her close. "I'm so sorry."

"N-no. It-it wasn't your-"

"No, I should never have left you…I _never_ should have left you at all" He took a deep breath. "I will stay by your side now every moment of every day. I will keep you safe myself... oh gods, if anything had happened to you-"

"Never mind me…" Brienne sat down heavily on her bed, picking up the dagger. Just thinking that one of them, both her most trusted guards… _Pod_ would never… _Denys_ would never…and yet one of them had…she turned the dagger over and over in her hands-before, suddenly, something caught her eye. She gasped.

"Brienne?" Jaime dropped to his knees in front of her, terror filling his face again. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"No…" Brienne held the dagger by the blade. She held out the hilt so that Jaime could see it. Carved into the Lannister steel, there was an initial… _D._

Jaime looked shocked. "Seven hells…"

" _How could he_ …?" She could not fathom it-Denys's smiling face loomed like a spectre in her mind…she could not understand…he had been her confidant, her voice of reason, the only one who could make her smile somedays, her _friend_ …how could he try to murder the baby they had talked of every day, the baby she'd believed he'd loved too… " _Denys_..."

"Gods..." Jaime buried his face in her lap, groaning loudly. " _Gods_..."

" _How could he_...?" Brienne whispered again. She stared at the dagger, looking hard at the D, almost willing it to change shape...but of course it did not. It was Denys. He was paid by the crown. He had been sent to spy-and now to kill her child...

Jaime looked furiously up at her. "I knew it couldn't be Pod. I knew he would never do that to you."

Suddenly-Brienne sprang to her feet, panic seizing her. "My father doesn't!"

* * *

Lord Selwyn looked like a caged animal, snarling and snapping as Sam worked on the two unconscious men. The guards stood either side of him, keeping him away from the tables on which the two men lay. Denys was more or less unscathed, apart from Pod's blow to his head, but Pod looked dreadful, the stab wound in his side, blood still seeping from it despite the dressings Sam was applying hurriedly. "Why are you helping them?" Selwyn growled, pure fiery hatred in his eyes. " _They tried to kill my daughter_!"

"I must," Sam looked helplessly at Selwyn as he cleaned Pod up the best he could. "I'm sorry. We can try them when they're-"

"We do not need to _try_ them!" Selwyn was scarlet-faced, spittle jumping from his lips at he shouted. "They are guilty! They tried to kill my _daughter_! She is _pregnant_ , pregnant with my grandson- _your king_! This is high treason!"

Sam looked harassed as he tended to the slash in Pod's arm, dabbing at it with honey. "I can't do anything until Jon-"

"Well." Lord Selwyn drew his sword, his face like thunder. " _I can_. Gods help me, I shall kill them both before they wake!" He stepped forward-but every guard stepped in front of him, forming a wall so that he could not pass. But-Selwyn simply laughed. He drew himself up to full, incredible height, looking down at each of them. "Which of you proposes to die for a traitor? Which of you will keep a father from his vengeance?"

The guards hesitated for a moment-then each of them moved aside.

"No!" Sam looked up from working on Pod, running over to block Selwyn's path. He looked up at him, scared, but stood his ground, squeaking: "You can't execute a criminal without the consent of the Lord-"

" _I don't care_." Selwyn hissed. "Stand aside, you foolish boy!" He pushed past Sam and approached Denys, his sword glinting. Without so much as a moment's hesitation-he put it to Denys' throat-

Suddenly-the young guard's eyes snapped open.

"Wh-" Denys started, looking around in horror. He looked at Pod, lying comatose beside him-then at Selwyn's sword in at his throat. He gave a small scream.

" _You_ -" Selwyn roared.

"NO!" Denys sat upright-frantically pointing at the unconscious Pod. "It was-it was him! Podrick Payne! He is paid by the Lannisters! I tried to stop him, but-but-He was going to kill her! Lady Brienne and her baby!" He looked devastated, real tears filling his eyes. "I am so sorry, my lord, I did everything I could to stop him. I can't imagine what sort of an evil man could kill a babe in his mother's womb! It's just too awful…"

Lord Selwyn studied Denys, his wide eyes, his frantic tone...Slowly…he lowered his sword. Denys sat up straighter, his eyes pleading.

"I swear to you, Lord Selwyn, by the old gods and the new that I would never do harm to your daughter. I love her with all my heart-and I love my king, your grandchild! _Pod_ is a traitor! He's just…oh, I can't even bear to look at him…" Denys covered his face with his hands, as if he was already crying. "I-I just c-can't imagine what would have happened if _I_ hadn't been there to _save_ Lady Brienne…it would have been so _terrible_ …"

Selwyn pursed his lips…then turned to Pod. He raised his sword, approaching the man's motionless body. Anger flowed through him like nothing he had felt since Littlefinger's execution. As he looked down at Pod, the evil little man who had almost killed his Brienne and his grandchild in one move…he felt almost physically sick. He aimed carefully for Pod's neck-

"NO!" Suddenly-Jaime had burst in from behind. He was breathing hard-clearly he had run all the way from the chamber. He ran to Lord Selwyn and grabbed his sword-arm, pinning it down to his side. "Don't!"

"Father!" Brienne followed behind, also panting, though she had not sprinted as Jaime had. Instantly, one of the guards hurried over to her to check she was alright, but she waved him away impatiently. She pointed at Denys, who was looking at her as if she was a ghost. "The dagger belongs to this man!" She held it up by the blade, clearly showing the "D" initial on the hilt.

Instantly, all four guards ran to Denys and seized him, pinning him down to the bed, despite his screams and protests. Brienne was deaf to them as she hurried to her father. "Podrick Payne _saved_ me, Father."

Sam, who had been cowering in the corner, suddenly stepped up again to Pod, who lay still, unaware of all the commotion, and quickly began again to tend to his wounds.

"Oh, little bird," Selwyn took his daughter in his arms, kissing her forehead. "I'm so glad you're safe…" He looked over her shoulder at Jaime, who was still panting. "Is this true?"

"It must be," Jaime answered, pulling himself upright and dashing to Pod's side. "Podrick Payne is a good man and a loyal squire. He would _never_ hurt Brienne." He looked up at Sam, who was busily bandaging Pod's arm. "Is he going to pull through?"

"He had better." Brienne let go of her father and ran to Podrick's side. Looking down at him, so small, covered in blood, her loyal Pod…she almost cried thinking of him laying his life on the line for hers, bravely raising the sword he was none to skilled with in his little hands to protect her. "Oh _Podrick_..." she sighed heavily.

Sam bit his lip. "I'm doing my best for him."

"Do more than that." Selwyn said, forgetting he had almost murdered him just seconds ago. He strode to Brienne, putting his arm around her, rubbing her back. "Do more than that. He must be saved."

Brienne said nothing. She looked down at Pod, so pale and still, feeling tears filling her eyes. She had not realised what her Pod meant to her until this moment. Images flashed past her eyes-Pod failing to ride a horse in a straight line, Pod forgetting to skin a rabbit before he tried to cook it, Pod smiling up at her even when she glared at him…a tear spilled down her cheek. She looked desperately at Sam. He glanced back to her-and nodded.

"I'll do everything I can."

Jaime was looking at Brienne. He felt his heart breaking at her tears…and felt tears behind his own as he thought of how close he had come today to losing her… _and_ their baby… _oh gods_...the thought of this little life, his own child, the little lion cub he loved more than he could put into words, being so easily snuffed out before he had even lived…and his mother… _Brienne_ …and he would not even have married her…He could not have gone on. He could not have faced another day without them. He could not survive. Looking at Brienne, the tear rolling down her face, her cheeks delicately pink from adrenaline, her hair stuck to her forehead…all proof she was real, and alive, and living…and the swell beneath her tunic, her round belly, proof that his little lion lived…

" _I love you_." he said, without thinking.

Brienne looked up at him in shock, furiously wiping her cheek with her sleeve. "I _don't_ think now is the time!" she snapped, looking back down at Pod.

Jaime said nothing more. He looked down at Pod, praying to all the gods that he would recover.

"I love you too."

She said it reluctantly, offhand-she did not even look at him, never lifting her eyes from Pod. But it was all he needed.

* * *

Podrick Payne limped forward. His arm was bound in a sling, his entire torso was wrapped heavily in bandages, and he was in more pain than he had ever been before, more pain than he had believed possible…and yet he smiled.

Pod hobbled, taking his time, as he made his way slowly into the great hall at Winterfell. The afternoon sun shone brightly through the windows, for the snow had for once stopped falling for a few precious hours. He looked all around him, the smile on his face spreading. Sat on the benches from the trial was every spare Winterfell guard, every Umber, Karstark, Mormont and Manderly man who was not occupied. And every man-far from mocking him or looking down on him-was smiling straight at him in admiration. He felt like a hero, a great conqueror from a story book.

Stood in front of the top table, his face stern, and yet fiercely proud, Longclaw in his hands, was Jon Snow. Beside him, Lady Sansa smiled back at him, looking even prettier than he had ever seen her, her red hair long, shiny and brushed loose past her shoulders. Then, there was Tormund, a grin behind his wild, bushy beard, Lord Selwyn, nodding in approval, Ser Bronn, his arms folded, shaking his head and grinning as Pod approached. Finally…there was Ser Jaime, more handsome than ever, his smile triumphant…and beside him…Lady Brienne.

Pod felt as though he was made of pure golden light, as if he was dreaming…but the pain in his side and the stone floor beneath his feet proved that he was wide awake, and beaming hugely as he slowly reached them. His heart was pounding under his tunic as so many people looked at him, his cheeks blushing pink…but he did not care. He did not care one bit.

Jon Snow stepped forward. He smiled proudly down at Pod. "You may kneel."

With a little difficulty, Pod knelt to the floor. He was positively quivering with excitement. Jon noticed this, and gave a small laugh, which was returned by many of the other assembled company, and loudest of all by Bronn. But Jon took another step forward. He looked more serious now, readying Longclaw in both hands.

"Do you, Podrick Payne, swear to defend the king?"

Pod nodded, so eagerly he almost tripped over his words. "Yes!"

Brienne exchanged a proud look with Jaime.

"Obey the king?"

"Yes!"

"Obey your father?"

"Yes!"

"Protect the innocent?"

"Yes!"

"Defend the weak?"

" _Yes_ , my lord!" Pod grinned up at him.

Jon shook his head, sniggering. "That only needed the one "yes" at the end, you know."

A ripple of laughter coursed through the room. But Pod did not care. He barely heard it. "I swear it, my lord, before the old gods and the new!" he said passionately. He could hardly believe that this was really happening. Even if he had wanted to, he could not have stopped smiling.

"Well, in that case," Jon grinned down at him. He took up Longclaw, while Pod respectfully bowed his head. "In recognition of your constant loyalty, fierce devotion, protection and service to the future king, and your bravery, which is an example to us all…" Jon gently laid the blade of Longclaw on Pod's left shoulder. "As Lord of Winterfell and King in the North…I knight thee _Ser_ Podrick-" He placed it gently on his right shoulder. "Of House Payne. A true knight at last." He beamed. "You may rise."

Pod felt as though the deafening applause and cheers that followed, echoing off the ceiling, the floor and all four walls, were lifting him high into the sky, higher than the moon and all of the stars, higher than the Seven Heavens, higher even than anything else possible. He slowly got to his feet, all but forgetting his pain. Behind him, every man applauded, cheering and stamping his feet. Before him, Jon Snow shook his hand hard, pumping his good shoulder up and down. Then, he was passed to Tormund, who clapped his bad shoulder, which hurt rather a lot, but he could not care less. Next, Bronn slapped him on the back so hard he almost fell over. " _Oh, you'll be fighting them ladies off with a shitty stick now_!" Perhaps best of all was Lady Sansa, who bent down and kissed his cheek, leaving it even rosier than before. Now feeling a little dizzy, drunken on happiness, Pod turned to Lord Selwyn, who looked more solemn.

" _Thank you_ ," Selwyn gripped Pod's hand in both of his own. "You are more deserving of this than any man living. I can never thank your enough for saving my daughter. Even if I live a thousand years."

Pod could only nod-before he was claimed by Jaime. Jaime pulled him into a one-armed hug, rubbing his knuckles on Pod's hair. "I'm so proud of you!" he beamed. Then, more seriously, he looked him in the eyes, a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for saving my family. I owe you their lives-and mine. You are the most honourable man-and the _greatest squire_ -who ever lived."

Pod was speechless. His entire throat seemed to have closed up with emotion…but that was nothing compared to what came next. Finally…he was face to face with Lady Brienne.

"My lady…" Out of habit, Pod gave a slight bow-but, all of a sudden, so quickly it almost winded him-Brienne had thrown both of her arms around him.

Pod had no words. He could not believe what was happening. Even just after he had been knighted, even after everything that had happened- _nothing_ came as a bigger shock to him than being embraced by Lady Brienne. It did not last more than a couple of seconds-but he considered it the proudest moment of his life. When they broke apart-he found his vision had become somewhat misty, as if he had been drinking too much ale. Brienne smiled down at him, her eyes so familiar, her face so fierce with pride.

"T- _thank you_." he managed to stammer.

Again, laughter rang around the room. "That kid's turned you bloody soft, my lady!" Bronn remarked.

Brienne shook her head, still smiling. "Today, it is I who thanks you, _Ser_ Podrick. You are a worthy knight."

Pod could not possibly beam any wider-before Bronn quickly wrapped an arm around him, rubbing his shoulder hard, laughing, and led him off, down the middle of the room, around the benches of applauding knights and through the door. "We're going to the tavern. Right now. _Ladies, have you met my friend Ser Podrick Payne-the knight_?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the universe! I know I say it every chapter, but I honestly mean it and much love to all :) Please continue to do so!**

 **Ahahahaha thank you for sticking with me in the previous two chapters! I nearly wrote "The End" after Denys went to stab Brienne, mwah ha ha ha...but I'm not George RR Martin! If I was, Pod would be on the Iron Throne :P I'm so glad you're all happy for dear Ser Pod!**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

Suddenly, the sack was ripped off of Denys' head, leaving him blinking in the sudden, dim light. He was bound by his wrists and ankles to a wooden chair-but it dawned on him that he was not in the dungeons as he suspected. This was confirmed with the deafening barks of dogs close by. Denys flinched-then almost screamed as Tormund's furious face loomed into his own. The Wildling made a noise like a rabid dog.

"Don't bother." came a voice from behind. Jon Snow appeared, Longclaw at his hip. Tormund stepped back to let him pass. "Trust me," He crouched down in front of Denys, who was now shaking. "The quicker your answer my questions, the quicker it will all be over."

The dogs barked louder. Denys could hear them snuffling and growling-and realised with a start that there were only bars separating them. Bars held in place by only a bolt. Which another Winterfell guard held threateningly in his hand.

"So listen to me." Jon said. His voice was unsettlingly calm. "I need you to tell me-word for word- _exactly_ what you have reported back to Cersei. And don't waste my time. I know when a man is lying."

Denys gave a whimper as the hounds snarled. But-he looked Jon Snow right in the eyes. And kept his mouth shut.

Jon rolled his eyes. "Alright then. Tormund, take a finger."

Eagerly, Tormund stepped forward with a knife, a huge grin on his face-but Denys screamed. " _No! No! Please_!"

Jon stopped Tormund with a wave of his hand. "That was your final chance. Tell me everything Cersei knows. Now."

Denys was shaking all over. Sweat was beginning to pour from his brow, his skin deathly pale yet blotched with scarlet. "I-I won't!" he protested bravely.

Jon shrugged. He looked back over his shoulder. "Tormund?"

" _No_!" Denys screamed. But this time-Jon did not call Tormund off.

There was a deafening crunch of bone.

* * *

Brienne stood by her window, looking out to the sunrise, Jaime's cloak wrapped tightly around her. She gritted her teeth as she heard screams…they were _Denys'_ screams…she could not help wincing as she heard them. It was never easy to hear someone familiar being tortured…even under the circumstances…

Jaime got up from the bed, the furs sliding off him, and stood by her side. There was no discomfort in his face as Denys' screams echoed through Winterfell-though there was no joy either. "Don't listen. Come to bed." he murmured, taking her arm.

"What's the point?" Brienne said coldly. She looked out at the sky, the snow tinged pink in the weak light of dawn. "Neither of us have slept all night. What makes you think it will be any different now? Especially…" Denys' screams became louder, shriller than before. Something awful must be happening to him...

Jaime sighed. He wrapped his arms around her. Brienne looked exhausted. "You're freezing." he said, feeling her icy hands.

"I'm fine." But suddenly, Brienne realised just how cold she had become. She leaned into Jaime, still warm from the bed. "Thank you."

"Come to bed," he tried again. "You need to sleep."

Brienne sniffed. A dark shadow crossed her face. "I did sleep. And I woke up with a dagger inches from me."

Jaime sighed. "Oh Brienne…what are you going to do, stand there every night now? You need to _rest_ ," He kissed her cheek, shaking his head. "Please come to bed. Try and sleep. No one is going to hurt you, I swear it."

"Oh, how can you _swear_ it?" she snapped, turning to him. "I don't know how many more spies Cersei has sent! If Denys is a traitor, anyone in this entire damn _castle_ could be working for her-"

"Hey, hey!" Jaime held her tighter. "Stop it. You should not get yourself so worked up when nothing is happening right at this moment. Besides, there are _four_ guards outside your door, upon your father's insistence. And mine too. So please, just try to rest." Gently, he took her arm again. "Come on, at least sit down. You shouldn't be on your feet for this long."

Brienne still looked fearful-but she let Jaime lead her back and sit her down on the foot of the bed. More screams from far below. Jaime reached back, grabbed the furs from the bed and wrapped them around both of them. "Don't listen." he repeated, seeing her wince. But he was grateful she was letting him care for her. "It won't help you."

Brienne slackened a little from her stiffness. She leaned her head on his shoulder, sighing hard. "I don't know how I let someone I didn't know anything about so close to our baby. What an _idiot_."

"No-oh come on, Brienne, you can't-"

"I was an idiot." Brienne persisted. She felt sick. "He had so many opportunities to hurt our baby-we spend _hours_ together every day…he could have done it any time. It was just lucky that Pod was there-without him, we would both be dead…"

" _Don't_." Jaime held her tighter. "Pod was astounding. But yes-it was lucky. _Lucky_. I'll take luck any day. Stop stressing yourself out, _please_. You know it's not good for either of you." He tenderly kissed her cheek. Slowly, gently, he ran his hand through her hair, knowing she liked it, that it soothed her. just beneath, he felt the scars on her neck from the bear pit. He carried on, combing her short, yellow hair with his fingers, until the lines of anxiety on her face began to smooth out. "There now…" he murmured, feeling her beginning to relax a little. "You can't do anything now. Just try to rest…no one can hurt you now… _right now,_ you are safe. Our baby is safe. I am here…I am never going to leave your side again, remember? I will protect you...I will always be here..."

"I love you…" Brienne whispered, taking his stump hand in both of hers, holding it close. Jaime loved her more than ever when she did this. He remembered fleetingly how Cersei had recoiled from the stump, refused to touch him when he did not wear that heavy golden showy thing. She had hated him for losing his sword hand, the hand which held all of his power…but Brienne did not care. She accepted his imperfections as if they were perfections, did not care in the slightest as long as he was beside her. With her, he had remembered that he was more than his right hand.

"As I love you. So come on," Jaime gently helped her down onto the bed, finding that she did not fight him, placing the pillow beneath her head, covering her with the warm furs. She still wore his scarlet cloak, and he did not bother to remove it. Carefully, he lay close beside her, wrapping his arms around her, still stroking her hair. She looked so exhausted, bags heavy beneath her eyes. He ignored the tiredness behind his own, resolving himself to staying awake, at least until she slept. "Try to get some rest…I'm here…nothing can hurt you…nothing can hurt our baby…not now…I'm here…"

* * *

"…the newly decorated Ser Podrick Payne certainly put his title to best use." Bronn grinned, leaning up on his elbows on the table. "He even, eh, knighted a couple of girls himself, I believe. With his very own sword."

Tormund laughed heartily. "Good on the lad! Well fucking deserved!"

"Can't move now, of course," Bronn yawned and stretched. "Wish I were in bed with him-I mean, _like_ him!" He chuckled at his mistake while Tormund banged his fist on the table, roaring-but suddenly, all mirth was over as Jon Snow entered the small council chamber, followed by Lady Sansa and Lord Selwyn, who looked tired but happy.

"Morning," said Jon, taking his seat.

"A _very_ good morning," Selwyn nodded in grim satisfaction. "I hear you took a finger from the traitor."

"Aye, I did," Jon did not look so pleased. He addressed the room. "The traitor Denys has kindly informed me that Cersei is, if he is to be believed, aware of our plans. She has already sent a Lannister ship this way. We can expect a Lannister army at our gate this time next week."

There was a small silence.

Jon, unfazed, continued. "However, Cersei's forces are much depleted and there can be no more than a hundred men on her ship. We will be more than a match-my father always said that Winterfell could be defended against any army in the world by twenty good men. However…" He turned to Lord Selwyn. "It is my belief that the future king, your grandchild, is no longer safe at Winterfell. If Cersei got one spy in, she can get in more-though Denys swears he acted alone, I am taking no chances. We need to move Lady Brienne away from here. Put her in a carriage, send her far away before the Lannisters get here."

Selwyn blinked, shocked. "Where else can we send her? She cannot go farther North and she cannot go South-that would be walking straight into the jaws of the beast! Where do you propose she goes?"

Jon looked straight back at him. "Cersei knows that Lady Brienne carries Ser Jaime's child. She will have put an enormous price on her head already, and every man she is sending North will be looking for her. There's probably a lordship in it for them if they manage to kill her."

Selwyn looked quite ill.

"Therefore…" Jon looked at Sansa, who nodded in encouragement. "We dye her hair. We send her to the Eyrie, under a false name, hide her behind the Bloody Gates. No one, not even those who will serve her there, will know who she is. My sister will accompany her, ensure that her cousin Lord Robin Arryn is aware of the paramount importance of her safety. Only he, and the other lords of the Vale who watch over him, will be aware of her identity and the identity of her child. Then, when the child is born-"

"Hang on," Lord Selwyn held up a hand. "Pardon me for interrupting-but are you suggesting that we send my daughter to the Vale? Away from all of her protection at Winterfell? All of _your_ protection?"

"She will be safer in the Vale," Jon ploughed on. "It will be the last place Cersei thinks of, trust me. Lady Brienne has no connections to the Vale, no allies there-"

" _Exactly_!" Selwyn looked at Jon in dismay. "How could she be safer?"

"My sister, Lady Sansa, will accompany her," Jon repeated. "She will have all the protection and loyalty given to the Wardeness of the North and the cousin of Lord Arryn. And once the child is born, she can ride for Kings Landing, while Sansa returns to Winterfell, for there must always be a Stark-or a me-in Winterfell. We will have taken the city by then and the throne will be waiting."

Selwyn shook his head in disbelief. "I can't see them agreeing to this…not in a thousand years..."

" _Them_?" Jon frowned.

"My daughter and Ser Jaime." Selwyn clarified.

Jon shook his head, still frowning. "No. Jaime Lannister will not be riding for the Eyrie. We need him. He knows Kings Landing and he knows Cersei better than any of us. We won't stand a chance taking the capital without him. He will stay with us and ride South."

Selwyn looked shocked…then, he gave a humourless laugh. "Good luck convincing him of _that_! He will not leave her."

Bronn agreed from the other side of the table. "No. He wouldn't leave her for all the wine in Dorne."

"He _will_." Jon said, sternly. He addressed the table once again, with a dutiful air. "He will and he must. After they are married, of course. Which they _will_ be-the day after tomorrow. I have long run out of patience." Jon sighed heavily, his eyes regretful, turning to Selwyn. "I'm sorry, my lord. I respect Brienne, you know I do, but she can't keep this up any longer. They will be wed the day after tomorrow, and that night, under cover of darkness, Sansa and Brienne will depart. They will probably reach the Eyrie within a week off the Kingsroad." Jon sighed, his hands tied. "I must protect the future king to depose Cersei and see the kingdoms through Winter. You all know what's out there, I have told you, and you know what is coming for us all if we do not act. I fight for the living- _all_ of the living. That is why the child must be legitimised, and Brienne must travel for the Vale before Cersei's army arrives."

There was silence. The atmosphere could have been cut with a knife.

Bronn coughed. He looked nervous-but he leaned back in his seat. "Well. _I'm_ not telling them."

* * *

Dusk fell. The snow lay thick on the ground, for it had been falling all day. A strange air hung over Winterfell that night. The silence did not sit will as it usually did-instead, it was as if the castle had been gagged, but it screamed still. Inside the walls-Brienne argued furiously, frantically, with her father, their heated words echoing through the corridors. Close by, Jaime Lannister tried desperately to reason with Jon Snow, hardly able to contain his own fury…But out here, all was silent. Except…

In the centre of the courtyard, some gallows stood, the wood damp from the snow so they creaked sickeningly. A corpse had been left there. As it swung in the wind, the creaking grew louder, and then quieter again as it stopped. The rope was old, the knot crudely tied, but still, it had done its job. Denys hung from the noose, his face a pale green, his eyes popping revoltingly, his head at an unnatural angle from his broken neck. His left hand was missing a finger, and the flesh already smelled horrific as it rotted in the cold, damp air. Dead, his dimples vanished, his laughter all choked, he swung and creaked, swung and creaked…

Far in the distance, unaware of all of this, with the goal only of reaching Winterfell and finding Jaime…a ship had already landed. Landed long ago. Suddenly, far sooner than Denys had let on, the dreaded army was already marching on Winterfell. An army of far more than one hundred men…and they were close. Very close.


	27. Chapter 27

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* * *

Jaime lay awake. He had not slept all night. His hair was sticking upright from his running his hands through it, racking his brains, trying to figure out what to do. Beside him, Brienne's breathing was soft and deep. She had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. Her eyelashes were stuck together from the tears she had cried into his chest, her cheeks damp, streaked and stiff, her lips tight even as she slept. There was no peace in her face. He sighed quietly, wishing he could somehow fix everything, fly her over to Pentos, away from all of this…

She had held herself together in front of her father, in front of Jon Snow, Lady Sansa and everyone else as they told her of the plan to send her to the Vale. She had shook her head, reasoned with Jon Snow, outright argued with Lord Selwyn when everyone else left, while Jaime had chased Jon, trying desperately to persuade him that even if Brienne had to be sent away, he _had_ to go with her. He trusted no one else now to keep her safe. But Jon had not budged. He sympathised, understanding, blaming war…but he was the King in the North, and he had to do what was best for the cause. He had to keep the future king away from Cersei's forces. And that was the end of the matter.

It was only when Jaime had closed the chamber door behind them…that she had fallen into his arms. She cried so much more easily these days. It was the baby-pregnant women always became more emotional, even warrior women. He could do nothing but hold her as he went through every possibility in his head, anything he could do, every path of action under the sun. When she had finally cried herself to sleep, he leaned back beside her, his thoughts keeping him awake.

He looked over at her. It was so strange…he remembered seeing her for the first time, all those years ago, standing behind Lady Catelyn Stark, a great tower of a woman, glaring down at him…he had thought her ugly…perhaps that was because he had never seen a woman like her before. Now…he could hardly stand to look away from her. He did not know if she was beautiful, but she was…She still _fascinated_ him, even after all this time-this contradiction of a person. There was no one like her in the world, and she lay beside him, she loved him despite everything he was, she carried his child…

Silently, so as not to wake her, he reached out to touch her. So gently, he stroked her cheek, sighing as he felt the stiff dampness, wishing he could take away all of her pain and bear it all himself, so that she could sleep peacefully-

Brienne's eyes snapped open, an expression of horror blasting across her face. Instantly, she shot out a hand for Oathkeeper-

" _Brienne_!" Jaime caught her hand, stopping it, quickly smoothing her hair with his stump hand. "It's alright, it's alright…"

Slowly, Brienne's eyes focused. She looked around, realising that the room was empty, that Jaime held her, that there was no danger. She let her hand grow slack, moaning like a dog hit by a cart.

"I'm sorry," Jaime whispered to her. "I'm sorry I woke you. It was my fault." He kissed her, holding her close. "Go back to sleep. Everything is alright."

Brienne sniffed, the last traces of sleep falling away. "Nothing is alright." She turned to him, her eyes filled with dread. " _Nothing_ is alright."

"Oh Brienne…"

"Why the _Vale_?" Brienne could not fathom it. "Jon made this decision far too rashly. He wants the baby away from the Lannisters, I understand. So do _I_ , for the sake of the gods…but doesn't he understand that he is not safe from Cersei _anywhere_? Especially since Denys...I don't feel he is safe at all anymore unless you are here…" Brienne looked up at him. "You are the only one who is not protecting me to keep his king safe. Men turn from kings all the time. I trust no one but you, for I know you would not desert our baby...And now…" She found her throat seizing up. "And now I am going to have to leave you. Tomorrow they are sending me away to the Vale without you…"

"No. They are not." Jaime had long since made up his mind. He took her hands, looking straight into her eyes. "If they think that I am just going to let you go, they are fucking mad. Wherever you go, I go too, remember? I will escape Winterfell and travel to the Eyrie on foot if I must, if that's what it took to get back to your side. I would kill every man in every hill tribe, destroy every fucking Vale knight who stood in my way and reduce every single mountain of the moon to rubble if that is what it took to stay beside you. There is no force in the world that could stop me from being there when our child is born."

Brienne looked at him, seeing such passion in his eyes, such ferocity, it was almost frightening. It was the first time that she had seen a trace of Cersei in him...She did not know what to say…but finally: "No. You will never be able to-"

"Of _course_ I will!" Jaime pulled her to him, kissing her hard. "I swore I would never leave you again, and I will not. I will not be Oathbreaker in your eyes. I don't care what the rest of the world thinks, but I will die before I break my oath to you. Besides," His face became softer, a hint of a smile. "I would be seriously amiss in my duties as a father if I was not there for you when your time comes. I am going to support you through it, I am going to hold your hand…and I am going to hold our baby in my arms."

Brienne felt her throat close completely.

"It's all that keeps me going through all of this…" Jaime said, putting his hand on her belly, so gentle now. "It's all that keeps me going…there is nothing more beautiful in this world than seeing your child for the first time…holding him in your arms…every single thing you have gone through, no matter how terrible, is instantly worth every second, just to see your baby's face…" Jaime sighed. "Just imagining finally seeing him…seeing _you_ with him…" He kissed her fiercely. " _Nothing_ could be more beautiful…"

Brienne could not begin to describe how she felt. She could only hold on tightly to the man she loved, praying that she would never have to let him go again.

* * *

Pod stood outside on the battlements, taking his turn on the watch, his sword by his side, his head held high. He could hardly feel any pain any more from his wounds-perhaps it was the milk of the poppy…or perhaps the tavern girls…he grinned to himself, feeling like the king of the world. He had been given a brand-new cloak, long, dark red, even with a little fur around the hood. Jaime had it made specially for him, and it made him feel like a real knight. The House Payne sigil was sewn into the breast…every time he looked down at it, he wanted to burst with happiness. But best of all…

The girls at the tavern…he had liked their smiles, their loud laughs, their wild, bushy Northern hair, the fuss they made of him when Bronn had insisted on making Pod show them his bandages and told them of his heroics. Pod had truly felt like a king as all these pretty girls petted him, snuggling up to him…and even more so when the red-headed girl with the freckles and the loudest laugh of all had taken him to her bed. He served her as best he could with his injuries, tending to her as devotedly as he had ever served a lord or lady, and she seemed to love it. She told him as much too, loudly, repeatedly, increasingly…He liked nothing more than to make a woman happy...

But it was not the lovely, happy red-headed tavern girl who made him the happiest of all. It was quite another red-head…

He gently touched his cheek with his good hand, where Lady Sansa had kissed him. It had been so light, barely making contact-but it was all he had been thinking about. He felt a happy glow course through him whenever he thought about her, her perfect freckled skin, her intense eyes, her beautiful long red hair, how her rare smiles seemed to light up the entire room…Guarding her was a dream, for now he could spend almost every waking moment with her. Well, outside her door. But sometimes he walked her around the castle, or down to the hounds, or behind her in meetings or at dinner. Sometimes she even _spoke_ to him…

It was the subject of a thousand songs-a young knight falling hopelessly for a noble lady, far, far above his rank…But he found he could not help it. She was so _pretty_ , so sweet, yet so strong and clever and good...all at once, just like in the songs, she had become everything to him, and he was so _proud_ to guard her. And soon, he would ride with her all the way to the Vale, guard her at the Eyrie, and Lady Brienne would be there too-he could not _believe_ his luck. Saving Lady Brienne and her baby from the traitor Denys, being knighted, getting a kiss from the prettiest lady in Westeros and a whole new quest to the Vale, all in the same week...Pod sighed excitedly. Life was _incredible_.

He could see for miles all around. The snow seemed so beautiful now, beautiful and shiny in the weak sunlight…when, all of a sudden…something caught his eye.

There was something on the horizon.

Something was coming…a big something. Something that stretched far back…something that was coated in metal…something that held _banners_. Something…like an army. It wasn't _like_ an army. It _was_ an army.

Pod gasped. He leaned over the battlements, looking at the approaching army in shock. He narrowed his eyes as much as he could, squinting out into the distance, trying as hard as he could to make out the banners…they would be red, he knew it. Red and gold. Lannister banners. Denys had lied…Cersei's troops were-

But Pod squinted some more. Through the snowy haze…he could make out the banners. But-he realised in shock-they were _not_ Lannister banners. He stared at them, for a moment unable to recognise them…They were _black_. Which house flew a black banner? No house…no _living_ house…

On the field of black…Pod realised there was _red_. But not _Lannister_ red. A red design…a swirling red design...a creature with three heads…a dragon with three heads.

A three-headed dragon.

There was only one house who flew that banner.

* * *

"Stop! _Stop_!"

The carriage ground to a halt, the soldiers around it coming to a standstill with a huge stomp. It was a ripple of heavy boots and pikes hitting the rock beneath the know as all three hundred men stopped dead. Their armour was black, though it did not extend down their thickly muscled arms past their shoulders. Every man must have been freezing in the snow, but not one eye that showed through their black helmets betrayed a hint of discomfort. Every round, heavy shield was held firmly to attention on their chests, every sword perfectly polished at their hips, and no man moved a muscle. It was the closest thing to a perfect army that the world had to offer. And it could see Winterfell, close in the distance.

The doors of the carriage were flung open. Down the steps and into the snow stumbled a man with light curly hair and a dark beard, dressed in brown Essos robes, who promptly doubled over and threw up smartly onto the ground. His steaming vomit seemed to melt the snow around it.

Another head leaned out of the carriage. A bald head. "Couldn't you have waited? We can't be more than an hour from the castle. You could have vomited on Littlefinger's grave. That would have made me smile…"

Tyrion looked up at Varys, gasping. "I'm sorry that my body does not follow your personal agenda…" He coughed again, but no more vomit came. "Gods I hate the North…last time I was here, Robert Baratheon's sizable behind still squashed the Iron Throne…This terrain and travel sickness are not good bedfellows…"

"I think travel sickness and _wine_ are perhaps the questionable bedfellows…" said Varys, with a cruel smile. But he looked around. "Yes, it's a...disagreeable climate. We'll not stay long. Have you quite finished?"

Tyrion shook his head a number of times, before sighing and climbing the steps back up into the carriage. He sat down heavily beside Vary, who knocked on the roof, signalling for the driver to move on. There was a call in the Low Valyrian dialect used by the Unsullied, before the men moved on, marching perfectly in time alongside the wheels of the carriage. Varys looked out at them uncertainly. "I wish we hadn't brought _quite_ so many men."

"Thought you'd enjoy travelling with as _many men_ as possible…" Tyrion groaned, rubbing his head.

Vary ignored the jibe. "This approaching mass of Unsullied will look like an attack to the Starks. Then again…I suppose it _is_ , in a way…"

"The _Stark_." Tyrion corrected him. He looked out of the window, towards Winterfell. He felt a drop in his stomach that had nothing to do with his nausea. "Only Lady Sansa left now…"

Varys raised an eyebrow. "Yes, that _is_ one reunion I am looking forward to…But do not underestimate the loyalty to Jon Snow here. He is as good as a Stark. My little birds are singing of a new King in the North…"

Tyrion groaned. "Because that went _so well_ last time, didn't it?"

Varys shrugged. "It is not our concern what the Northerners want to call their lord…we have far more pressing matters to attend with Ned Stark's children…" He looked significantly at Tyrion. "Not to mention your brother…"

Tyrion looked pained for a moment-then gave a sardonic grimace. "Nice to be the Lannister child who has caused the _least_ strife for once…my sister blowing up the South…my brother the figurehead of a rebellion in the North…apart from the dragons, I have had a pretty quiet year in comparison, wouldn't you say?"

"I am not saying anything." said Varys smoothly. He looked out of the window again. Winterfell loomed, growing closer and closer. "Well…it's quite beautiful, really. In its way."

Tyrion shook his head. "It would be much more beautiful if it was made of tits and wine…" He clenched his jaw. He had thought he would go to his grave before he saw Jaime again. But now, he was marching towards him, with three hundred Unsullied, ready to knock on the gates of Winterfell in the name of a new queen.


	28. Chapter 28

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* * *

Brienne stared in horror at the dress which hung outside Lady Sansa's wardrobe.

"What do you think?" Sansa beamed excitedly, practically bouncing up and down. "I finished it last night! I _think_ I got your measurements right-I had to go by your armour, so it was quite hard-especially with the _baby_ -but I think it turned out well. I _think_ it's long enough, don't you?"

Brienne simply stared at it. There was a strange sinking feeling inside her, as if she was suddenly made of rocks-and had been thrown into the sea. Now she understood why Lady Sansa had insisted on Jaime standing outside to guard the room. The dress…it _was_ long, flowing down to the floor, and it was blue-sapphire blue, lined with snowy white…the fabric was simple, with small sunbursts and crescent moons embroidered at the wrists-from the Tarth sigil. The neck was low, and lined with a thin strip of white fur, so delicate, so feminine... It was _beautiful_ …but the shock of seeing it almost floored her.

"I didn't have a cloak made, because Ser Jaime will give you his at the wedding," Sansa explained breathlessly. "Isn't it glorious? Well, I shouldn't say so myself, but…" She reached out and stroked the white fur. "I know it will look wonderful."

Brienne swallowed hard. She finally found her voice. "You are most kind, Lady Sansa. It is far too wonderful a dress for me. You oughtn't have put so much of your time into-"

"But I _wanted_ to!" Sansa said, taking her arm. "I've been working on it for a month-it's been good for helping me manage...stress. You know." She grinned up at her determinedly. "You have done so much for me, you have been so loyal all these years even when I thought I didn't want you. Besides, must look wonderful at your own wedding! It has to be so romantic. Especially since you're marrying for love…"

 _Love_ …Brienne thought bitterly. Love had not made Jon Snow order the immediate impending wedding...the thought of it made her want to throw up and cry at the same time. " _Thank you_ , Lady Sansa. You are far too kind." She found her voice was far more monotonous than she had hoped for, so quickly feigned some kind of enthusiasm so as not to hurt Lady Sansa's feelings. "It is…very beautiful."

"Isn't it?" Sansa beamed as she carefully picked it up, cradling it. "You must try it on!"

"Oh no, I-"

"You must! I so want to see how it looks!" Sansa thrust the dress at her, indicating the privacy partition in the corner of the room. "Go on!"

Brienne felt the dress in her hands. It was heavy, and so soft…the most beautiful dress she had ever been given. It was even more beautiful than the dress her father had given her for her ball, when she had danced with Renly Baratheon…when he had been so _kind_ to her, despite the other nasty little shits…and she had thought her dress then the most beautiful dress in the world, before she realised she herself was so far from beautiful…far too far from beautiful to wear such beautiful clothes…

" _Go on_!" Lady Sansa prompted, sitting down on the foot of her bed. "I can hardly wait!"

Feeling foolish, Brienne awkwardly slipped behind the gauze. Slowly, she removed her tunic, her back to Lady Sansa despite the partition between them. She was still not used to her new body. It still looked so alien-her larger, fuller breasts, her growing belly…It was not something she could become accustomed to, however much Jaime liked it. She pulled the dress over her head as quickly as she could, before she could think about it much more, leaving her leggings on underneath. As the dress settled on her…she felt ill. Oh gods. She was wearing what was supposed to be her _wedding_ dress…It fitted better than she had expected, so well…the sleeves skimmed her muscles, the waist gave definition, the hem hid her awkward feet, the neck was so much lower than she was used to that she almost blushed, the fabric so soft, the fur so warm…and it was so _beautiful_. Far too beautiful for her…And all she wanted was to take it straight back off and rip it to shreds.

But she had to walk back out. Just as awkwardly, she stepped from behind the partition, feeling like a horse on display.

"Oh!" Lady Sansa stood up. "Oh Brienne, you look…" She spent a moment searching for the right word. "…magnificent. Really magnificent."

Brienne gave a disbelieving sniff that was too quiet for Sansa to hear. She felt so ridiculous…it was as if she were a toad or a frog who had put on a tiara-the dress much too beautiful for her. She could not help but think of how wonderful the dress would have looked if she wasn't so tall, so gawky, so ugly…

"Don't look so pained!" Sansa giggled. "You can borrow one of my necklaces tomorrow…are you alright?" She frowned up at her, suddenly scared. "What's wrong? Is it the baby?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Brienne forced herself to relax-or at least appear to. "You are too kind, my lady. Much too kind, to make such a beautiful thing for me." _Because I will not wear this dress._

"Of course not," Sansa smiled happily again, her eyes shining. "Oh, I am so _excited_! I am so glad your families keep the new gods-the weddings in sight of the Seven are so much nicer. It's a shame we don't have a sept, but I suppose that doesn't matter. I think it will be better, actually. I used to be so scared of those huge statues of the gods in the septs, even though they were so important-I used to be convinced they'd fall and crush me. Have you practised what you will have to say?"

Brienne had already darted behind the divider to change out of the dress, as if it would burn into her skin if she kept it on much longer. "Er…no, my lady." _Because I will not say them._

"I practised over and over before I married Lord Tyrion…" Sansa paused for a moment. "I was so scared I'd get them wrong in front of all those people…I suppose _you're_ not nervous though. You _want_ to marry Ser Jaime."

 _Yes. But not like this._

"You will not have to say very much," Sansa explained cheerfully. "Just the names of the gods, and then _I am his and he is mine_ …all of that…The septon will do all the talking. I just nodded when it seemed appropriate. Lord Tyrion said I did well. He was very kind."

"I am glad he treated you with respect, my lady." Brienne buttoned her tunic firmly, with rather more ferocity than the task called for.

Sansa put her head to one side, considering. "Isn't it funny? Cersei has to be the most black-hearted woman who ever lived…and yet her brothers, who have her blood, are so… _normal_. Lord Tyrion was always kind to me…and Ser Jaime is unrecognisable from the Kingslayer he was…You were right. He is a _good_ man. I used to hate him…but I am glad you are marrying him. You just…the both of you just _go_ together…"

Brienne picked up the dress, feeling the soft material, running the fur through her fingers…she felt horribly guilty that Lady Sansa had put so much time and care into it, that she still had such romantic ideals even after everything she had been through…it was harrowing to see such a haunted girl smile and laugh and talk about forgiveness.

But she had long since made up her mind. She had refused to marry Jaime before, and she would refuse to marry him now. It hurt her to the core…but she had to. As long as her baby was born a bastard, he would be safer from the Iron Throne than he would be as a trueborn heir. It would be easier to protect him from Cersei if he was named Storm. She refused to legitimise him. If his bastardy would bar him from climbing the steps to the throne of death, she would ensure it to the bitter end-

Suddenly-there was a knock at the door. A frantic knock.

"Come in!" Lady Sansa called.

Instantly-the door swung open. Pod dashed in, followed by Jaime, who was shouting at him. " _Podrick!_ Stop! What's going on?"

Pod looked at him worriedly-then jerked his head over to Lady Sansa. "My Lady…" Then back to Jaime. "I…" Back to Sansa. "There's-"

"Pull yourself together!" Jaime ordered him. "What is happening?"

Pod breathed hard. He looked Jaime right in the eyes. "Your…your brother…"

Jaime stopped dead. He looked hard at Pod, as if he was lying.

"Tyrion?"

"Lord Tyrion?" Sansa blurted out. Her face was flooded with shock.

"What about him?" Jaime grabbed Pod by the shoulders, hardly daring to ask. "Has-has Cersei found him?"

"No!" Pod said, looking frantically around. "He-he's at the gates!"

Jaime blinked. He seemed to go through a thousand different thoughts in his mind, before finally looking back up at Pod. His voice had become dangerously low, tightening his grip on Pod. "Podrick…is this true? He's…he's _alive_?"

"Of course!" Podrick said, looking slightly scared of Jaime. "He-he's here! With-with Lord _Varys_ -and-and-an army of Unsullied!"

Jaime had gone pale. He leaned in closer to Pod, his voice still barely a hiss. "What do you mean, an army of Unsullied? The eunuch soldiers from _Astapor_? And-and Varys? The old Master of Whispers? Are-" Suddenly, his voice raised almost to a shout. "Are they here for _Cersei_?"

"No!" Pod now looked positively terrified. But he managed to find his voice. "Of course Lord Tyrion isn't here for Cersei…they…they're under _Targaryen_ banners!"

* * *

Once again, Jon Snow stood before the centre of the high table in the great hall at Winterfell. On his left-Lady Sansa. On his right-Tormund. But right beside Tormund-Jaime. Jaime felt sick as he watched the door, waiting. Waiting for the brother he had presumed almost surely dead to stride through it. He could not quite believe it. He would be sure this was a trick if there wasn't suddenly a large camp of Unsullied soldiers building fires around the grounds of Winterfell. But Tyrion was in this building. He was coming. He was back from the dead…

Jaime looked over to the left, far on the other side of Lady Sansa. Bronn nodded reassuringly at him. Pod gave a nervous smile. Both men were clearly as excited and anxious as Jaime to see Tyrion. Both of them had been close to him. Jaime gave a tight smile in return. But they were not the person whom he wanted to see more than anything. He looked to his right. Beside him…Brienne. On her other side-Lord Selwyn. Brienne's eyes said it all. He looked at her gratefully, reaching out a hand to take hers-but before he could-

The doors swung open.

First-two Unsullied soldiers, exactly the way Jaime had imagined them. They marched in front, their faces set. Then-two more Unsullied. Then-two more…they marched perfectly in time. It was almost mesmerising-but his eyes kept sliding away from them, looking hard at the entrance to the door, searching…

"You know what I love about this entrance, Varys? I'm the only man walking into this room with a cock."

Jaime's heart leapt, almost right out of his chest. It was as if a dead man had climbed out from his grave, got to his feet and begun to speak. He could not believe it. But his brother was unmistakeable. Tyrion walked, with long strides, beside the bald Varys who seemed to glide. Tyrion looked rough-his hair was longer, his beard unchecked. But he held his head up, his arms swinging by his sides. This was Tyrion, there could be no doubt. Here he was-Jaime's long lost little brother, not a ghost, not a mirage, but here, in the flesh. Tyrion did not stop as the Unsullied did. He continued to walk forward, passing even Varys. All at once-his eyes locked with Jaime's.

A long moment of silence passed. Jaime stared hard at Tyrion, who stared right back, in equal disbelief. His mind leapt from thought to though-the last time he had seen him, smuggling him from Kings Landing, from Westeros, under Cersei's nose…the moment he discovered that Tyrion had been the one to kill their father…but then Tyrion drinking, Tyrion laughing, Tyrion slapping Joffrey around the head…Jaime did not know whether to laugh or cry himself. He gazed at his little brother, angry, upset, relieved, elated…still hardly able to believe he really stood in this room, breathed this air with the living.

" _Brother_ ," Tyrion looked nervous…but a smile was beginning to play around his lips. "…It has been far too long."

Jaime paused for a moment. He could barely begin to form words. But-he decided that now was not the time for speaking. Now was the time for doing. Jaime shook his head. He threw all cold dignity aside, hurried down from his position and hugged Tyrion hard. Even now, feeling his warmth, the dampness of the snow melting on his robes, his breath on his cheek, it still felt impossible that he was alive. "Tyrion…" Jaime murmured, kissing his brother. " _Gods_ …"

"Well, I was very happy with lord, but I suppose I could get used to _god_ …" Tyrion leaned tightly into him, as if finding it difficult to believe that Jaime was alive too. "I have missed you, Jaime."

Finally, the embrace broke. Jaime straightened up, looking down at Tyrion. He was here. Jaime had believed he had no family left apart from Brienne and the baby, but here was Tyrion. His little brother had returned. "What in the name of the gods are you doing here?" The ghost of a smile played around his lips. "I thought you were sunning yourself in Pentos?"

"Nope," Tyrion shook his head, smiling properly now. "I couldn't bear to stay away. I think it was the onset of Winter that tempted me back. Or perhaps the unrest. I could never resist a war-torn hellhole, could I? Perhaps I should have sailed straight for the capital." Tyrion tore his eyes away from his brother, and looked back around at the company who looked down from the high table. Slowly, with the merest hint of the nerves he felt showing, he began to approach them. "Lord Snow, I believe." he said, nodding to Jon. He took him in. "You were a boy when I last saw you, all fresh-faced and ready to take the Black…My…how you've grown."

"Aye," Jon looked down suspiciously at Tyrion, who moved swiftly on. He looked up at Lady Sansa.

"My lady…" Tyrion approached her far more gently. She was looking down at him with a mixture of guilt and fret. Slowly, he took her hand and kissed it. He coughed, a little awkwardly. "I…I heard of your ordeal with the Boltons. I…I am so sorry."

Sansa said nothing. She simply stared at him, as if not quite believing he stood before her again. But, as if he could not bear to look at her for the shame of not having been able to protect her, Tyrion moved on.

"M'lord," Bronn grinned, holding out a hand to shake Tyrion's. "Fuck me, I was sure you'd be dead by now. No Essos merchants managed to get hold of your cock over there? We all know it has magical properties…or so I'm told."

"Not yet," Tyrion grinned up at his old friend. "I trust you are well. And speaking of magic cocks…" He turned to Pod, who was looking down in awe. " _Podrick Payne_. I see you squired until the bitter end."

"Oh, it's _Ser_ Pod now," Bronn slapped Pod's back so hard he almost tripped over his own feet. "He's all fancy these days."

" _Ser_ Pod?" Tyrion's eyes widened in surprise-but he shook Pod's hand proudly. "Well, well. Today has simply been bursting with surprises. Congratulations, _Ser_ Podrick Payne. A worthy knight, I'm sure." He grinned at Pod, who looked prouder of himself than ever. Then…he turned around, walking back past Jon Snow. He neatly avoided Tormund, patting Jaime's back as he passed him…before stopping in front of Brienne. He looked her up and down.

"My lady…" He breathed out. "You look…well." He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised. "So it's true…" He looked back at Jaime, who was giving him a stern look, praying he wouldn't say anything unsavoury… "Well." Tyrion coughed again. "My brother _did_ always like blonde women."

"How _dare_ you-" Selwyn began, his voice a dangerous hiss.

"My Lord Selwyn. I don't believe we have met," Tyrion held out a hand to him politely. Selwyn towered so much over him that it was almost comedic. When he did not take his hand, Tyrion slowly retracted it. "I see. Well. I'm sure it will be nice to meet me in a minute or so."

"What are you doing here?" Jon Snow interrupted him. He looked suspiciously over at Varys, who still stood back. He surveyed the Unsullied, who stood to attention, glancing through the window at the rest of the army outside. "Why have you brought…" But Jon's words stopped dead as he realised something pinned to Tyrion's chest. "Why are you wearing the _Hand's_ badge?"

"Ah yes," Tyrion spun back to face Jon, patting the gold badge. "I was getting to that."

"Get to it quickly." Jon ordered. "I have the collective forces of every major Northern house in this castle. We are at war-"

"When are we _not_ at war? That is the real question." Tyrion nodded to Jon Snow again. Perhaps it was an attempt at a respectful bow. He looked back at Varys, and signalled his cue to speak. With a sweep of his long robe, Varys took up his position to begin to tell the tale.

"The birds sing in the East as they sing in the West-and I have heard some very disturbing songs from the North." He looked grave as he stepped forward to address the room. "You are planning to depose Queen Cersei, using the collective forces of the North and as much of the rest of Westeros as you can manage, and replace her…" Varys scanned the group before he found Brienne. "with the child of Jaime Lannister and Lady Brienne."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Your birds sing true."

"Unfortunately," Varys continued smoothly. "That makes you our enemy-" He held up a hand calmly as Jon reached for Longclaw.

"We wish to make you our _ally_." Tyrion explained quickly.

"Your _ally_?" Jon frowned, confused. He had not taken his eyes off the badge. "Which king do you serve?"

"No king," Tyrion said, folding his arms. "I serve the only woman who could possibly overthrow Cersei to take back the throne that is rightfully hers."

Jon looked more bemused than ever. "And who is that?"

Tyrion's voice took on a note of pride. His eyes misted over a little, as if he spoke of gods and angels. "The last Targaryen. Queen Daenerys Stormborn, First of her Name, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of-"

"Targaryen?" Jon took a step forward, shaking his head. "All the Targaryens are gone. Maester Aemon at Castle Black said before he died that Daenerys, the daughter of the Mad King, was no more than a child, marrying some horselord in the middle of the Dothraki sea…"

"Not quite." Tyrion looked straight at him. Still, his voice had that ede of grandeur as he spoke of his queen. "Her Grace is _very_ much alive, and very much unmarried. Not only that…she is very much positioned to attack Kings Landing and take the Iron Throne, which was her birthright. The assault is planned for three months' time, while the Queen consolidates her troops and makes plans on Dragonstone. Then-"

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Jon Snow stepped forward to face Tyrion. He was beginning to look more confident-and therefore more threatening. "Giving away your plans to put a Targaryen girl who has never set foot on Westeros on the throne. You have just told me where and how to find her. What is to stop me from sending the full force of half of the Seven Kingdoms to save them from yet another mad Targaryen ruler?"

Tyrion met his eyes. "Because you will join her."

Jon looked outraged. He gestured back to Brienne. "I have my heir to the Iron Throne. An heir who will face the real problems-like a fucking army of the dead marching on us from beyond the Wall! Why can't I seem to get that through any Southerner's head? Besides, the Targaryen girl is the daughter of the Mad King, who murdered my grandfather, Rickon Stark, _and_ my uncle Brandon Stark, and countless others. She is the sister of Rhaegar Targaryen, who kidnapped, raped and murdered my aunt Lyanna Stark, and started a war that killed many, many more. _Fire and Blood_ are their house words, and fire and blood is how they rule. How would the kingdoms fare under another Targaryen ruler? How would the _North_ fare under her rule?"

Tyrion clenched his jaw. He looked away from Jon-and up at Jaime. "You cannot fight her. You would be fools."

"And why not?" Jon demanded. He felt rather patronised by Tyrion, which raised his voice even more so it became almost a bark. "I fight for the living against the dead-not for one conquering madman against another. Soon I will have the biggest army the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen at my command. I have seen what is coming from the North. Tell me why I could not take on this Targaryen stranger along with Cersei to put an heir I can trust to put the lives of their living subjects above their own selves and their place on the throne? Name me one man-or woman-living who would do that! It must be the child."

Tyrion was still looking at Jaime. "You _cannot_ fight her. You must join her." He sighed. "This is why I insisted that Her Grace let me sail here. I came here for _your_ sake, Jaime. For the sake of your child-my nephew. My own blood."

Jaime felt dread in his stomach. "What do you mean?"

"You did not let me finish introducing the Queen." Tyrion continued. He looked all around, raising his voice significantly. "Breaker of Chains…and _Mother of Dragons_."

Silence.

"Queen Daenerys controls the Unsullied, the Dothraki, the Second Sons…and she has three fully-grown dragons. As real and alive as you and I." Tyrion took a step closer to his brother. "For your sake, for the sake of all Lord Snow's men, for the sake of your child, don't make your child her enemy."

Jaime could say nothing.

Jon looked stunned. But he spoke up- "The North-"

"As Hand of the Queen, I will ensure that the North will be the first issue we deal with when Daenerys sits on that throne." Tyrion turned back to Jon, his face reassuring. "You can make sure of it yourself, Lord Snow-when you bring your army, the biggest army the seven kingdoms has ever seen, as you say-down South to the capital to help Her Grace defeat my sister and take the crown. Please-I beg you to join the winning side."

"Hold on." Jaime held up a hand, finding his voice. He stepped forward, leaning down and putting his hand on Tyrion's shoulder. He spoke slowly, clearly. "Tyrion…are you saying that this Daenerys would take the crown from Cersei and sit on the Iron Throne?"

"Yes." Tyrion nodded. "It is her birthright."

"And if we came to her side…she would do all Jon Snow believes necessary to protect the living from the dead?"

"Yes. I would make sure of it."

"And…" Jaime took a deep breath. "And...my child…" He swallowed hard. "would no longer have to be presented as an heir?"

Tyrion put his hand over Jaime's. "I'm sorry, brother. But it is the only way. You cannot fight her. You must join her. I'm s-"

But Jaime and turned around and thrown his arms around Brienne. Relief like nothing he had known before was rushing through his veins like lava from a volcano. He almost cried out but made no sound, simply holding on as tightly as he could. He never wanted to let go, for if he did, he might wake up to Jon Snow disagreeing, insisting on fighting this new dragon queen, though that would be foolish. He wanted to stay forever in this moment of freedom...

Brienne was not so quick to give in. She did not dare to wrap her arms around Jaime as she so wanted to, but turned to Jon Snow.

Jon was thinking so hard it seemed to pain him. He turned to Tormund-but the thought of dragons had clearly put him past rational conversation. Tormund merely stared in disbelief and wonder. But Sansa was not so easily silenced. She stepped forward, addressing Tyrion.

"Lord Tyrion," she begun bravely, looking down at the man who had once been her husband. "You are suggesting that we abandon our cause to join yours."

Tyrion looked curiously up at her. It seemed as though he could not quite get the measure of her no matter how long he looked. He was unsure whether to treat her as the child he had been forced to marry or as the woman who so determinedly stood before him. "I am, my lady. I am begging you to join the winning side and save your lives and your freedom. Her Grace is prepared to extend the same friendship to the North as was extended to your father by Robert Baratheon. She is keen to meet you, my lady. A good relationship with the North is important to her, as she understands that it is vital to keeping the seven kingdoms peaceful and unified."

Sansa looked surprised. "Meet _me_? Not Jon?"

" _Both_ of you, of course." Lord Tyrion corrected himself. "But you are the Queen in the North as much as Jon is King. It is your name my queen says when she speaks of the North. As for your…cause. Her Grace sends me, her Hand, to offer you an agreement, the outcome of which lies solely upon your decision."

"And what is that?"

"Join her. Help her to win the throne and the kingdoms. Release all claim of the child of Jaime and Lady Brienne to the throne, and she will not take any action against you. However, should the child try to usurp her, she _will act_." Tyrion gave Sansa a significant look. "My queen does not make empty threats. She does not wish any harm upon the child, but she will do what she must if he poses danger. I urge you, my lady, to remove that danger. Join the queen, and she will be victorious. You will be _victorious_."

Sansa was thinking hard. But she maintained Tyrion's eye. There was such a curious air between them…

"And I suppose she wants our forces?" Jon Snow said harshly.

"Well, naturally." Tyrion did not look at him. He could not seem to tear his eyes from Lady Sansa. There was a strange look on his face. "My lady," he began, almost breathless. "Daenerys is no ordinary woman. She has walked onto a burning pyre with three dragon eggs and emerged unscathed and with three baby dragons. She has liberated every slave in from the masters of Slavers Bay, given them back their cities and destroyed the tyrants who oppressed them. I have watched her climb on top of a dragon and ride far off into the distance. The dragons are not gone, my lady. She brought them back, and she will use them to defend the kingdoms against any enemy-even the enemy beyond the Wall. I beg you to come to this woman's cause. She is…" He looked around at the faces who stared down at him, before breathing out hard. "You will still march on Kings Landing. You will still depose Cersei from the throne and replace her with a monarch who is worthy to sit there. Come to the side of the queen. Come to the side of the dragons."

Another long silence fell across the room.

Sansa looked stunned. She turned to Jon. But he did not know what to do or say. It was as if he had been turned to stone. So, she turned back to Tyrion herself. "I would discuss this matter further before we agree to join you. But it would seem…I mean, I _believe_ that…that this Targaryen queen is our best hope to end Cersei's reign and survive Winter."

Jaime felt Brienne's hand take his.

Tyrion looked in amazement at Lady Sansa. He could not seem to quite catch his breath. " _Thank you_ , my lady. You make a wise choice. You have become…" He shook his head. "I would meet with you and your brother in the council room to fully discuss the plans for the next few months. I would appreciate the loan of a raven in order to report back to my queen. And perhaps a jug of wine. I have had a _very_ long day."

Jon still did not look convinced. But Sansa was looking down at Tyrion, trust in her eyes. "I will have wine brought to the council chamber." She signalled to Pod, who followed her like a lamb, as she swept out of the great hall. With a suspicious look at Tyrion, Jon followed her, his hand still on Longclaw, though he did not look ready to draw. Tormund followed on, still looking bemused and amazed at the idea that there were dragons in the world again. Then-silence feel across the chamber.

Tyrion turned to Jaime. "I am sorry, brother. There will be no more Lannister rulers after Cersei."

" _Sorry_?" Jaime shook his head hard. He ran his hands through his hair. "Tyrion…this is a _miracle_."

"Jaime?" Tyrion frowned at his brother. Jaime looked-and felt-a little crazed. So crazed, so deliriously relieved and slightly insane, that he could only think of one thing to do. There was only one thing that he wanted to do.

Quick as lightening, he turned around to face Brienne. He took her face in his hand. "Are you happy? _Please_ say you are?" he pleaded her. Suddenly-he dropped to his knees before her. His face had become desperate, looking up at her, taking her hand in his. "Oh, for the sake of the gods, Brienne, _would you bloody marry me now_?"

Brienne seemed beyond words. She kept looking at Tyrion, as if certain he would disappear, and all of this would be gone, and their child would still be the Northern champion. It seemed too good to be true that, from one moment to the next…that their baby had received his reprieve. That they had all been reprieved. But now...she had eyes only for Jaime, who looked up at her, his eyes wide, almost maniacally desperate.

And she could do nothing but nod.

Not caring who else was in the room, Jaime leapt up and kissed her.

A moment of silence passed…before Bronn began to slowly, sarcastically applaud. Lord Selwyn had turned away, his head in his hands…so happy for his daughter that he did not know what to do. And Tyrion…Tyrion merely stared in amazement.

" _Well_ …I really _have_ been gone for some time, haven't I?"

Jaime could not hear him. He could not hear anything anymore. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart as he held the woman he loved, feeling as if all the weight in the world had dropped from his shoulders and smashed into a thousand pieces, never to be recovered.


	29. Chapter 29

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Please continue to do so, much love xxx**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter! This chapter was originally going to include the impending wedding (!) but I haven't finished writing it to a passabe standard yet due to being very busy-sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy. More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

"Isn't it funny?" Jaime murmured into Brienne's hair as they lay beneath the bed furs that night. "How this time yesterday nothing was worse than the thought of marrying me tomorrow. And now…well. I'd say there has been a change in the wind, wouldn't you?"

"You know that everything has changed now." Brienne turned over to face him. She could not seem to stop smiling. She leaned into him, seeming unable to get close enough to him. "I still can't believe it."

"I can't either," Jaime kissed her, smiling back. He could not look at her enough. "But didn't I say all along that everything was going to be alright?"

Brienne sniffed. "Not like this. _Never_ like this…" She wrapped her arms around her belly, still unable to process everything that had happened that day. That her baby was no longer the subject of every discussion in the council chamber, that he would never sit on the Iron Throne, that he was not a king…he was just… _theirs_.

Jaime held her close, as if he had read her mind. "Everything is perfect now. The world doesn't matter anymore. The throne doesn't matter anymore. It's just us now…just us…" He gently stroked her hair, kissing her again. "I can't believe I am going to marry you tomorrow…"

Brienne raised an eyebrow. "Nor I. _Really_ nor I."

"I never thought I'd get married…" Jaime murmured. "Never…"

"Nor I…" Brienne repeated, breathless. "It is…not something I ever imagined for myself…or ever thought I'd want. Not since I was a child…"

"Oh yes?" Jaime grinned wickedly. "I cannot imagine you sitting in your tower like the little bird your father calls you, dreaming of some wealthy, handsome lord whisking you away to his castle and marrying you in a pretty dress…though I've never seen a lord get married whilst wearing a pretty dress…"

"Not quite!" Brienne laughed, though felt her cheeks flush slightly. "I suppose…I never really thought that anyone would…you know…" She swallowed, embarrassed. "The boys I knew when I was young-and when I was older-made it rather clear that I was not worth whisking anywhere…"

Jaime smiled, gently stroking her face. He sighed-but his eyes were shining. "Well. Isn't it lucky they didn't? Think of all the things you never would have done if you'd been married off at sixteen to some little shit of a lord who couldn't see you."

"They _could_ see me. That was the problem."

"No…" Jaime sighed again. "I meant that…they don't see you the way everyone _should_ see you. The way _I_ do…" He smiled. "If they had seen you properly…then again. If they _had_ , if they knew you like I do, if they saw you like I do, one of them surely would have married you on the spot…And then I would never have met you… _And_ you would never have met me. Which of course would be the _greatest tragedy.._."

Brienne laughed, looking away from him. "Of _course_."

"And you would never have dragged me through rivers, fields and hedges off the Kingsroad for months halfway across Westeros," Jaime grinned, but his eyes were soft. "And we would never have hated one another. Or thought we did. And then we could never have loved one another..." He took her hands. "And that would truly be a tragedy…"

Brienne found that she had no words to say. She kissed him instead, trying to pour everything into her kiss, hoping that he understood. It was beginning to feel so normal…to lie in bed with the man she loved, to kiss him, to carry his child…there was nothing spoiling it any more, nothing horrible clinging to her back, no dark shadow stalking her everywhere she went…just Jaime beside her, and their baby…

Jaime's eyes had misted over by the time their kiss broke. "I love you…" he whispered.

There were no reservations any more. "I love you too."

Jaime beamed. " _Both_ of you…" He reached down and stroked her belly, sighing in amazement. "He is no king now. Just…just _ours_ …We can be his _parents_ now. Nothing more." He looked her straight in the eyes. "…I want to do everything properly this time. I want my child to look at me, from the day he is born, and know that I am his father. I will be there when he laughs, and I will be there when he cries…I will be there when he reaches out to be held…When he takes his first steps, I will pick him up when he falls. I will take care of him when he is sick and teach him everything I know when he is well. I can't wait to teach him to swing a sword, fire and arrow, ride a horse, to swim in rivers, to read and write and chop wood… And even if he is a king from the moment he is born, I want him to know that first he was loved. He will know that I am his father, and he will know that he is my child. _Our_ child..." Jaime held her tightly. "Nothing in the heavens could be more…more…oh, I don't know." He smiled at her, his eyes hazy. " _You_ know."

Brienne could not speak. But she knew Jaime understood that whatever was unspoken between them meant everything there was to mean. She covered his hand with her own, knowing that the gods had truly blessed her that day. Her greatest burden was gone…and now Jaime was talking about their baby, just like any other father…she could not believe her luck. It seemed almost too good to be true…almost.

"…and tomorrow…I am yours and you are mine." Jaime was saying. He leaned forward again to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her. "In the sight of the gods…At last."

"At last…" Brienne whispered. She could do nothing but hold him.

Jaime kissed her again…in a very different way. "So…how about one last night living in sin?"

* * *

Tyrion took a large bite of bread and meat. He stretched his legs out under the table, yawning loudly. "Gods, it's nice to sit still for once. Ships and carriages do tend to move around at lot, don't they?"

"Yes, my lord," Pod agreed. He stood behind Tyrion as he ate, feeling an extreme sense of nostalgia. It had been a long time. He had missed Lord Tyrion, missed his frankness, his humour, his ways. It was nice-it reminded him of being a younger man, a mere squire for the Lannisters…but he missed Lady Sansa this morning. He loved the way she looked when she first rose, her hair freshly brushed and shiny…but he had been ordered to stay with Tyrion today, and so that is what he did. Jon Snow had placed many more guards outside Lady Sansa's chamber since Tyrion's arrival. Pod knew Jon did not trust him. Still, it felt wonderful to be trusted by Jon himself, enough to look after a man Jon was wary of.

Tyrion finished eating, waving to the young squire who stood close by to remove the plate. "It wasn't so long ago you were fetching my meals, hey Pod?"

"No, my lord," Pod nodded, with a small smile. "It was not."

The door swung open. Instantly, Pod put a hand to his sword-but stopped when Ser Jaime entered, looking more cheerful than Pod had seen him in a long time. "Morning, brother," he greeted Tyrion.

"Ah, good morning, Jaime!" Tyrion stood, looking delighted. "I'm sorry, if I'd known you were coming I'd have waited for breakfast. We have not eaten together since …well. Perhaps the less said the better." He gave a weak smile, which Jaime returned.

"I couldn't eat," he said, raising an eyebrow and taking the chair beside Tyrion's. "Morning Pod."

"Good morning, Ser J-" Pod began-

"Couldn't _eat_?" Tyrion shook his head in disbelief, his eyes shining. "Now, who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"

Jaime laughed. Podrick had not seen him so relaxed for months-years maybe. There was something in the way he laughed with such abandon that made him look like a boy half his age, so carefree and hopeful. It was wonderful to see.

"I refuse to believe it. Where is that boy? Aeron!" Tyrion called through the open door.

"No, honestly," Jaime shook his head. "I really could not." He leaned back in his chair, looking both exhausted and energised. He closed his eyes, still smiling, his entire face smoothed out, barely a line to be found. He looked so young, so light.

"By all the gods…" Tyrion grinned, raising his goblet. "Look at you…it is so good to see you, brother. Though you are almost unrecognisable. _Completely_ unrecognisable. I almost _don't_ believe you are the same man."

Jaime snorted a little. "I don't feel like the same man."

Tyrion looked at him, a kind of bitter-sweetness in his eyes. "Well, if you were a counterfeit, you would have to be very dedicated to cut off that hand." He pointed at Jaime's stump, which lay unashamedly on the table. "What happened to the gold?"

"It always was very impractical…" Jaime shrugged. "I lost it in the dungeons. Better off without it."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, more serious now. "I agree. I think we are all best off with as little of the capital to carry around with us as possible. I don't think I could bear looking at a constant reminder on the end of my arm."

"No. I'd much rather have a constant reminder that I don't have a hand anymore." Jaime said lightly. "But you're right. I would be delighted never to set foot there again."

Tyrion set his goblet down. He looked hard at Jaime. "It seems impossible that you have made such a quick recovery."

"Recovery?"

"From Cersei."

Jaime paused. He looked down at his lap, then at the ceiling. Tyrion waited anxiously. But Jaime would no longer meet his eye. "What's done is done." he murmured.

Tyrion shook his head. "Jaime…"

"What?"

"Cersei burns half a city to the ground. You run North straight into the arms of someone else and swear never to go back to the capital, never to see Cersei again. _Cersei_ …" Tyrion shook his head. "I could never have imagined you without Cersei. Not since we were children. It was always the two of you against the world. And now…" He sighed. "Do you really mean it when you say you would happily never see her again? Ride with an army against her? I…I find it all rather hard to believe."

Jaime clenched his jaw. He looked at Tyrion again, his eyes stern. "The Cersei I knew burned with the Sept, with the Tyrells, with the High Sparrow. She is gone. She is dead."

Tyrion looked unsure. "Jaime…Cersei wants me dead. She would happily watch me impaled upon a spike while she ate. But _you_ …how can you-"

"Cersei is gone." Jaime repeated flatly, his remaining fist clenched. "Whoever sits on that throne now is not my sister." He stood up, walking away from the table. "I have mourned her. I had a month to mourn her while I rode here, to Winterfell. I have cried for her, I have hurt for her, I have hardly found the strength to go on. But now I have come to terms with it all." He turned back to Tyrion. "I have found new strength. Perhaps that is why I seem like a new man."

Tyrion pressed his lips together. But he nodded, looking up at Jaime. "It's just you and I now, brother."

Jaime relaxed a little. His fist uncurled, and he sat back down beside Tyrion. "Gods, I have missed you."

Tyrion smirked a little. "Of course you have. Who would not miss my sparkling wit and dashing good looks? Glad to see I am still the more handsome brother. And the cleverer."

Jaime snorted again, leaning back in his chair. "Of course."

"Well, I certainly have the most hands."

Pod watched in fascination as the two brothers joked together. He could hardly believe they had the strength to act so ordinarily after everything that had happened. He knew Tyrion had killed their father. He knew Jaime had not fought for Tyrion at his trial by combat, forcing him to go on the run all the way across the Narrow Sea to escape Cersei. And yet still they laughed together, as if they were two ordinary brothers on an ordinary morning. Noblemen were a species all of their own…

"But come, come," Tyrion sat up in his seat, reaching out to pour another cup of wine. He offered it to Jaime. "Drink."

"It's far too early-"

"It is your wedding day. _Drink_." Tyrion thrust the goblet into Jaime's hands, who begrudgingly took a sip. "Now. Tell me everything. I want details. Copious details. So...Lady _Brienne?_ "

Jaime smiled into his wine. "What about her?"

"Well…when a man goes away and comes back to find his brother desperate to marry the woman whom we once agreed was the _least_ desirable woman in the Seven Kingdoms…there has to be a good story there."

"Did I say that?" Jaime looked surprised at himself.

"Yes. You described her, if I remember rightly, as a humourless beast, as boring as she is ugly, with-"

"Stop it!" Jaime gently shoved his brother, feeling embarrassed. "I take your point."

"So tell me," Tyrion gulped his own wine with no care of the hour. "how on earth did you wind up shagging her?"

Jaime smiled again. "It is rather a long story."

"We have time. We have all the time in the world. Wait-Podrick?"

"Yes, my lord?" Pod stepped forward eagerly.

"How much time _do_ we have?"

"A few hours before the wedding is due to begin." Pod answered. "As long as you're not late-"

"Perfect," Tyrion leaned forward. "Now-"

"It's strange being without her." said Jaime offhandedly. He looked at the door, as if wondering whether to go to her. "I swore never to leave her side…"

"She is with Lady Sansa." Pod reassured him, again proud to be of service. "They are more than amply guarded."

"Thank you." Jaime murmured, nodding to Pod. He smirked a little. "Lady Sansa insists I not see the dress until-"

"Wait." Tyrion held up a hand. He blinked rapidly in disbelief. "The _dress_? Lady Brienne is going to wear a _dress_?"

Jaime snickered. "I know. She is not pleased."

"Now, seeing _this_ ," Tyrion grinned. "has made the travel sickness worthwhile." He took a long drink. "I never thought I'd see you wed, brother."

Jaime's smiled became a beam of excitement. "Neither did I."

"No wedding breakfast, though?"

"No," Jaime said, stretching. "We didn't want to cause a fuss ,since everyone is so busy. It doesn't matter anyway."

"Fuss is the whole _point_ of a wedding!" Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Oh Jaime, you both are completely clueless. Did you not get riotously drunk last night, take your last night of freedom by the balls and party until dawn? No gifts, no whores, not even a wedding breakfast? Next you will be telling me that there is no pie."

Jaime gave a slight smile. "No pie."

" _No pie_?" Tyrion looked scandalised. "It is the only part of a wedding worth hanging around for!"

Jaime laughed. "It doesn't matter." He looked out of the window, watching the snow fall heavily against it.

Tyrion gazed at his brother in astonishment. "You actually love her, don't you?"

Jaime nodded, feeling that warm glow fill every cell. He shrugged. "I do..."

"Well…" Tyrion breathed out hard, his eyes popping. "Just goes to show, doesn't it?" He blinked at Jaime for a moment in disbelief-before smiling impishly again. "Well, at least you won't need a wedding night either. This union is evidently well and truly consummated. What would be the point?"

Jaime grinned to himself. "Now, that is _one_ tradition I shall be treating with the _upmost_ respect."


	30. Chapter 30

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* * *

It was very awkward. Jaime was unused to being the centre of attention. He had been to many weddings, but he had always stood on the lower step of the sept, white cloak on his shoulders, as Kingsguard. He knew where he stood as Kingsguard. The rules, the behaviour, even where he should look had been written down long ago. But now…there was nothing. Just him.

His cloak was scarlet, the scarlet cloak he had given Brienne so long ago, and would give to her again. His armour was freshly polished, with the help of Podrick, his sword in perfect condition, the sleeve of his newly-washed tunic carefully covering his stump hand. He had combed his hair, shaved, bathed, cleaned and polished every visible surface. It seemed so…inauthentic. What did it matter what he looked like? But here he stood, so clean and tidied up, waiting, not knowing where to look or what to do. He found himself staring at the floor.

They had not bothered with using the great hall. Lady Sansa had suggested this spacious, yet far from cavernous, room, overlooking the Wolfswood. She had chosen it for the huge windows, which let in more of the weak Winter light than any other room in the castle. It was very plain, only a tapestry showing the Stark direwolf sigil on the wall, some old steel and stone weaponry on the walls, old and crumbling, but still so strong. It was small enough to feel intimate-and there was more than enough space for those who occupied it.

Tormund leaned on the farthest wall, talking to Bronn, who had also polished his armour for the occasion. There was a cheerful air between them. Jon Snow had arrived just moments ago, with Samwell Tarly, Gilly and little Sam. He looked tired-but even he managed to smile, looking over to nod at Jaime. Sam himself looked jovial, bouncing little Sam up and down on his hip so he giggled and shrieked. Even Varys looked happier, stood alone in the corner, seeming more comfortable by far than his arrival. There were no sides-everyone stood together. All appreciated the respite of today.

Three guards stood by the door, with three on the other side. Jaime knew more would come when…

Tyrion stood beside Jaime, looking far more relaxed than his brother. Near to them, Pod looked anxious, but excited. He kept glancing over at the door, hoping for the time to come as quickly as possible…Jaime found himself doing the same. Though the real indicator would come from behind him.

The septon unnerved Jaime. He wished that there did not have to be such _ceremony,_ such circumstance. He looked over at Gilly, at Tormund, knowing that the wildlings, or free folk as Jon called them, considered themselves "married" simply by deciding that they were, and nothing more. He almost wished he could do the same. Jaime had not grown up in a particularly gods-fearing household-his father had never kept the Seven close, and so neither had he. But he had promised himself-he would do this _properly_.

"How are you feeling?" Tyrion looked up at him, a lazy smile on his face.

Jaime took a few moments to find his voice. "Fine."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow knowingly. "Nervous?"

Jaime looked back at the septon. He had only arrived this morning-it had been difficult to find one in the North, where the Old Gods were still popular, at such short notice. A tall, well-built man, with thin chestnut hair and a slight squint. He held the _Seven-Pointed Star_ in his hands as if it was the most precious jewel in the world. He gave Jaime a tight, professional smile, which was uncertainly returned. He turned back to his brother. "Slightly."

Tyrion rolled his eyes fondly. "Oh, it will all be over soon. Just smile, and say the words when you need to. Think of the pie-oh wait…there _isn't_ a pie." He scoffed playfully. "I brought you a gift, you know."

Jaime looked down in surprise. "You really shouldn't have-"

"Shut up," Tyrion smirked. "You need to have at least _some_ fuss. Otherwise what is the point? Well…I brought you two gifts, really. One is for you…" He leaned in a little closer. "Apriot wine. From Mereen. It's open, but I have never liked it. Thought I'd give it to you instead. Think there's about half left...I…liked it a little."

Jaime burst out laughing. "Thank you for your generosity, brother."

"I'm famed for it, I'm sure," Tyrion grinned…but suddenly, his eyes had become soft. Suddenly, he reached into his pocket. "When I heard…when I heard you…you were bringing forth another Lannister child...before I boarded the ship…" He pulled something out of his robe, something wrapped in a white cloth. "I had this made for you…" Carefully, he removed the cloth that covered it…and revealed a small, wooden lion cub. It was beautifully carved, the eyes brightly varnished, the fur textured as if it would be soft to the touch, the paws defined, the teeth tiny and pointed.

Jaime's breath caught in his throat.

"It was carved by a soldier on Dragonstone. One of Her Grace's Unsullied. He carves all sorts of creatures since he found out he could, since the Masters stopped beating all the creativity from him…very happy to do this for me. Well. I think he was. My Valyrian is still rusty." Tyrion gently gave the cub to Jaime. "I thought that your Lannister lion cub might like it. To remind him of his rich history and proud ancestry…" Tyrion snorted. "But still. It's a wonderful thing, isn't it?"

Jaime stared down at the lion cub in his hand. It was looking back at him with those bright eyes. Suddenly…Jaime found that his own eyes were becoming shiny.

"Ah now." Tyrion patted Jaime's arm, the teasing smile returning to his face. "None of that. Save it for when you see your bride."

Jaime swallowed, blinking furiously. He bent down and hugged Tyrion hard.

* * *

Brienne found her hands were shaking as she put on the dress for the second time. It still felt so soft, so wonderful, so unlike anything else…still like it did not and should not belong to her. But still…Lady Sansa had made it for her, so carefully, so kindly, and Brienne felt it in every stitch. And that in itself made it so beautiful…

What did it matter what she looked like? It did not matter in the slightest…

Suddenly-Brienne frowned. She found a detail on the dress she had never seen before…a kind of half a leather belt, sewn carefully into the side of the dress, by her left arm. She fingered it, confused…before she realised. She reached over to her cabinet, on which lay Oathkeeper in all its glory inside it's scabbard. Carefully, she slid the great sword through until it was secure by her side, the scabbard fitting perfectly. Now- _now_ she felt complete. Gods bless Lady Sansa. She could not help but smile, until she almost laughed.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yes!" she called through. Instantly, the door swung open, and in dashed Lady Sansa herself. She had plaited her hair more intricately for the occasion, wearing a dusty rose coloured gown and smiling broadly. She looked prettier than ever. Clapping her hands, she beamed.

"I knew the dress would look wonderful!" Sansa rushed to her, adjusting it carefully until it was perfect. She reached up, carefully smoothing Brienne's hair, soft and freshly-washed.

Brienne looked down at her, feeling a rush of gratitude. " _Thank you_ , my lady." It did not seem enough.

But Sansa seemed to know. All at once-she hugged her. It was so gentle, so feminine…Brienne was overwhelmed with the sweet smell, the soft touch. "It is nothing. I have loved spending all this time with you. I have not had a friend for some time…and I feel that you are my friend now."

Brienne wanted to cry.

The embrace broke as Sansa smiled excitedly up at her. "I will go ahead now. Your father is waiting for you outside." With a final squeeze of Brienne's hand, she left the room. "Good luck!" And with that she was gone.

Another knock.

"Yes?" Brienne's heart was so full already that she did not feel prepared in the slightest. But still…the door creaked open once again. There, in full, shining armour, the Tarth sigil bright upon his chest, stood her father.

"Little bird…" Lord Selwyn took in her appearance…and smiled more proudly than ever. He opened his mouth to say something…then closed it again. He shook his head-then, suddenly, he covered his face in his hands, turning away.

"Father?" Brienne hurried to his side, worry gripping her. "What's-"

But the rest of her words were lost as he threw his arms around her. He held her close, kissing her forehead, as if he could not bear to let her go. She could hear his breathing-ragged, almost gasping. "Little bird…" he tried again, stroking her hair rather closer than he ordinarily would, probably messing up Sansa's work. "I…" Selwyn began, seemingly unable to catch his breath. "I have to get all of this out now, because I refuse to cry in company."

Brienne burst out laughing in spite of herself, feeling tears prickling dangerously behind her own eyes. "Oh, Father…"

Selwyn gulped. He shook his head again, before taking both of her hands in his. "You know how much I love you." he said, his voice stronger now.

"I love you too, Father,"

"I…" Selwyn tried again-but he looked down, shaking his head. Then-he looked back up. He smiled weakly. "I had all these things prepared to say to you. How proud I am, how happy it makes me to see you smile, how much your mother would have…" He seemed to wince, as if a pang of grief had hit him right then and there. He swallowed again. But now, he smiled properly. "But I can't seem to get them all out. Useless, aren't I? You know them all anyway. Let's just get you married, hey?"

Selwyn held out his arm. Her hand still shaking a little, the age-old gesture seeming so new and so foreign…Brienne took it.

* * *

Jaime concentrated all of his energy on keeping his feet still and flat on the floor. He refused to fidget and betray himself. Every second felt like an hour. He felt the little wooden lion cub, now in his own pocket, and felt nothing but joy in his heart…But the _waiting_ …

Finally-the door swung open. In came Lady Sansa, smiling more broadly than Jaime had ever seen her. Jon turned to greet her, and quickly she was absorbed by the group.

Jaime heard Tyrion breathe in sharply beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pod gazing at her.

Once she had spoken to everyone, Sansa turned and made her way to the front of the room, by the windows where the septon stood.

"My lady," Jaime greeted her politely, with a small bow. Sansa grinned excitedly up at him.

"My lady," Tyrion stepped in front of Jaime, looking up at her in amazement. "You look…very pretty." He coughed a little, looking odd.

"Yes, my lady!" Pod agreed from behind, looking around over Jaime's shoulder, almost tripping over his own feet in his enthusiasm.

Sansa giggled in surprise, seeming almost dizzy. "Thank you!" But, all too quickly, she turned to speak to the septon.

Jaime barely took note of what she was saying-of what _anyone_ was saying. His eyes kept flicking back to the door, nerves still stirring in his stomach. He slipped a hand into his pocket, feeling the small ears of the wooden lion cub…time was moving far too slowly. He thought of the real lion cub, still curled up safe inside his mother, unaware how close he had come to kingship, to unimaginable danger…and now, he was just a child again. He would be a lord-heir to Casterly Rock, heir to Tarth…if that was what he wanted. He could be a knight, like his father, a maester if he was scholarly-anything he wanted to do, he could do it. Perhaps he would even be an elder brother sometime in the future…for now, time seemed to stretch before Jaime like a calm sea, all the time that he had left, and he would be able to share it with the woman he loved…

Suddenly-Tyrion tapped him on the arm. "Ready?"

Pulled from his thoughts, Jaime turned to the septon-who had opened his book. He was looking back at him, waiting for his signal to begin. Jaime paused for a moment-before he nodded. Instantly, the septon began to read a prayer.

Jaime wasn't listening. He caught odd words, such as the names of the Seven, looking politely at the floor-but his thoughts were only in the corridor outside the door, where he knew Brienne was waiting. It took all his strength not to turn from the septon again and run as fast as he could to her. But he reminded himself firmly- _you are doing this_ _properly_. He was going to wed her exactly the way it should be done, exactly like anyone else would…but the thought of actually _marrying_ her, at long last, was almost more than he could handle…he kept his feet rooted firmly to the ground.

Finally-the door swung open again.

Behind him, Jaime heard every person in the room turn to face the door. There was a thick silence, thick as blood and water. He knew who had entered. And now…and now he could finally turn to see her. Without hesitating for so much as a moment-he turned around.

The first thing he noticed were her eyes. They were such an intense blue, so completely astonishing…brought out by the colour of her dress-the sapphire of the sea, of her eyes. He started slightly as he took in her entire appearance...he had seen her wear a dress before-the strange, pink gown the Boltons had thrust upon her, ruined in the bear pit. He remembered thinking that women's clothes did not suit her, that she looked far better in her own clothes, that she was not quite… _Brienne_ …there had been something so firmly missing from her in the Bolton dress, like she had been stripped down to something she was not, something far less than everything she was.

But _this_ dress…he noted Oathkeeper hanging proudly at her side, and she looked entirely herself. It was so beautifully made-Jaime knew almost nothing of dresses, but he knew enough to know that this one was something else. It did not hide her as her armour did. It was so simple and yet so...The pink Bolton dress had made her look vulnerable. That was why they had given it to her. However, _this_ dress-made her look strong. And that was why he loved her. The contradiction of her, every reason why she fascinated him…he was reminded, like warm sunlight on his face, how lovely her smile was…

Finally…she reached him. He had almost forgotten that they were not alone. With a slight shock, he noticed Selwyn beside her, gently holding her arm. He looked up at the old lord, who looked back at him. He remembered the first time he had met Lord Selwyn-how he had punched him in the face and given him a black eye. It seemed impossible that the same man was now smiling, with such pride in his eyes, back at him.

Selwyn turned to his daughter, kissing her once more. He swallowed hard-but his voice was strong. "I do not feel that it is appropriate for me to give your hand to Ser Jaime. Just because you are a woman, you are no one's property to give away-you were the one who taught me that, my love." He smiled down at her, squeezing her hands. "It is your choice to be here today, and no one else's. But…if you choose to give your hand to this man-and I have a feeling you are going to-"

There was a small ripple of laughter around the room. Jaime felt his heart glowing.

"-then know that I am your father, and you will always have a home with me." He shook his head slightly as he looked at Brienne, who looked back at him, her own eyes bright. Selwyn smiled again-then pretended to look stern. "And if he ever hurts you-I trust I have taught you well how to use that sword."

More laughter. Selwyn grinned, reaching out to pat Jaime's shoulder. He gave Brienne a final, long look…before gently releasing her hands and stepping away.

Jaime looked at Brienne-and found she was looking straight back at him, her eyes so astonishingly blue. He found that all the breath in his body had been sapped from him. It seemed so impossible that this day had finally arrived. All the heartache, the confusion and refusal and everything else…suddenly, it all felt so far away. He realised that he hasn't stopped smiling since the moment she had entered the room.

The septon cleared his throat. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Bronn gave a loud "HA!", which was met with appreciative laughter. Jaime found himself smirking-and as he looked at Brienne, she was too. But nonetheless-he reached up with his hand and undid the clasps of the scarlet cloak that was already Brienne's. When they fell away-he found that Brienne had already turned from him. Gently, as he had done the night he had come to Winterfell, the night he had found out that their baby existed, the night they had become their own family…he draped the cloak again around her shoulders.

"My lords, my ladies…" the septon began. "We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever…"

It seemed so completely impossible that Jaime found himself struggling not to laugh. He felt as if it was all he wanted to do, all he could do to express everything that was inside him, everything he felt on this day. Determinedly, he looked away from the septon and his sincerity, his seriousness, the ceremony of the whole thing…and looked at Brienne instead. He could tell she was not listening to the septon either. He gazed at her, simply letting the septon's words wash over him. She was so…Jaime found he could no longer find the words to describe her, or everything he felt about her. It seemed as if the negative description of things could go on and on, down a rabbit hole of horror. But the positive…what words were better than _beautiful_ , better than _love_? If there were any, Jaime did not know them. All he knew was that this woman, this ridiculous contradiction, this warrior, his saviour, his greatest friend…this… _Brienne of Tarth_ , for he could find no more words…was stood beside him at last.

He did not realise that the time had come to take her hand until Tyrion coughed loudly to prompt him. Brought back to reality-for this _was_ reality, this _was_ happening…Jaime offered his hand to Brienne. Without a moment of hesitation-she took it. Once again, their eyes met, and Jaime felt as though he was made of air and water. He smiled at her, finding his heart threatening to fly right out of his chest when the smile was returned…

The septon had already begun to tie the ribbon around their joined hands. "Let it be known that Ser Jaime, of House Lannister…and Lady Brienne, of House Tarth…are one heart…one flesh…one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." Then, his voice very clear: "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."

The ribbon fell away. Jaime found that he could not breathe.

"Look upon each other and say the words."

Jaime turned to face her, and she him. Again, insanely, he found himself struggling not to laugh, with pure joy. He could only gaze at her, lips pressed tightly together. He was not sure which was more difficult to hold back-the laughter, or the tears…

"Well, go on then!" Tyrion pretended to sigh impatiently. Again, there was laughter all around-and Jaime found himself grateful to be able to join it. But when he looked back at Brienne…

" _Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…I am hers and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days_ …"

Jaime could think of nothing more as he kissed her.


	31. Chapter 31

**Hello! Hope you are all well and happy! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Much love to all, please continue to do so! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

Dinner was a highly enjoyable affair. Rather than their usual separate meals in chambers and council rooms, Tyrion had insisted that everyone at least eat together. He could not seem to fathom the point of a wedding without some form of a party. He had ensured that the wine flowed fast and the conversation was relaxed and happy. Pod was beside himself with happiness at both having a seat at the table with the lords and ladies and being allowed to sit opposite Lady Sansa. Tyrion sat beside her, chivalrously keeping her wine glass filled, though she drank slowly, leaning back to enjoy this rare evening of freedom. As he drank, Tyrion's conversation with her became familiar and easy, while Pod squeaked a comment every now and again, and glowed whenever Sansa smiled at him. Tormund ate hungrily, making increasingly boisterous conversation with Bronn. Even Jon Snow laughed comfortably, chatting to Sam about something other than strategy or the North for perhaps the first time in months. Little Sam gurgled happily on Gilly's lap, squeaking every now and again as if joining in the talking, a trickle of gravy down his chin. The septon, who had been invited to join them before he rode in the morning, spoke to Lord Selwyn about the _Seven-Pointed Star_ -it sounded as though Selwyn wanted desperately to get away from him as soon as he could, but he was in too good a mood (and had drunk rather too much wine) to cause offence. Beside her father, Brienne. And beside her-Jaime.

"Are you happy now?" Jaime asked her playfully, quietly, as she held his stump hand under the table. Beside him-Tyrion laughed loudly at something Bronn had said.

Brienne looked at him, her mouth curled into a teasing half-smile. "Isn't it obvious? Idiot."

"So cruel," Jaime took a drink of wine, unable to take his eyes off of her. He still could not stop smiling. "Hey-how does it feel to be my _wife_?"

Brienne shook her head in disbelief. "I still can't quite get used to it…"

Jaime grinned wider. "Nor I." he admitted. "But that's fine. We literally have a lifetime to get used to it." He lifted their hands from beneath the table to kiss hers. He could not seem to do it enough. "How does it feel to be my Lady Lannister?"

Brienne blinked in shock, making a sudden face of disgust. "I am not _Lady Lannister_."

Jaime spluttered slightly. "Wasn't that the whole _point_ of today?"

"I married you. I am yours and you are mine…But I am Brienne of Tarth." she said lightly, taking a sip of her water. "I will _always_ be Brienne of Tarth."

Jaime thought for a moment-then shrugged, gazing fondly at her. This was why he had married her. "Alright. It hardly matters. Hey-" He grinned again. "Does that mean that I am now _Ser Jaime Tarth_?"

It was Brienne's turn to laugh now. Jaime felt his heart glowing more than ever-it felt so special to him every time he made her laugh, since she so rarely did. He found himself laughing with her, in purest joy. "Okay, my Brienne _of Tarth_ …but I hope that you won't mind _this_ one being a Lannister." Gently, he rubbed her belly, his smile softening. "He is a lion cub..."

"Right!" Tyrion raised his goblet high, speaking loudly enough to stop all talking. "As I am prepared to bet that my cherophobic brother has not designated any speeches…" Tyrion took a large drag from his glass before raising it again. "…shut up and listen to me."

There was laughter around the table, loudest of all from Bronn. Jaime sat up straight, slightly concerned about what was about to come out of Tyrion's tipsy mouth.

"Right…" Tyrion took another deep drink, before turning to Jaime. "Jaime…my dearest big brother…who would have thought this day would come?" He grinned. "I remember…I must have been about four years old…Jaime was maybe twelve, thirteen…I was angry with my nursery maid for not letting me stay up late one night-I can't remember what I was missing, but it must have been important at the time because I was beside myself. Jaime had heard my cries, and come to my chamber, like any older sibling…and the next thing I knew he was teaching me how to rig a bucket of pig shit above the door so that when she opened it…well," Tyrion paused as laughter bubbled around the table. "You get the picture. So Jaime and I went out to the yard early the next morning, and he had me keep watch while he balanced the bucket above my door. I was so excited-it was the best day of my life so far. I could smell the pig shit and the adrenaline rushed through my veins-I was practically bouncing up and down in the doorway…and of course, that is when my dear big brother Jaime, my partner in crime, the best big brother in the world-dumped the entire contents of the shit-bucket over my head."

Peals of laughter around the table. Jaime collapsed his head into his hand-he had almost forgotten that day. Tyrion looked entirely pleased with himself at the reaction. "I could smell pig shit for days…" He took another gulp of wine. "So…the moral of that story is…Jaime is an ass…" He raised his now empty glass, sniggering. "So-would you all please: kindly drink to my brother Jaime Lannister-the humungous ass!"

Cups were raised in toast, as Jaime blushed as scarlet as Brienne's cloak. But he laughed along, too happy to do anything else.

"However-" Tyrion quickly refilled his goblet with wine, and drank half of it before continuing. "Jaime is not _really_ an ass. Well-not much of one." Tyrion grinned at him, a hint of fondness behind it. "He is much less an ass now than he was a year ago-and much, _much_ less so than he was before he met the woman who is now my _new sister_ …" Tyrion raised his cup to Brienne, who smiled at the ground, embarrassed to be drawn attention to. "My lady…I can say, with complete confidence…" He sipped some more wine. " _No one_ has done more to make Jaime less of an ass than you. And for all of the years you have ahead of you…I hope you will continue to do so, until he is finally bearable." More laughter. Tyrion winked at her. "I know you will be very happy together, that you will make wonderful parents…" He gulped yet more wine. "blah, blah, all that rubbish...And so." He held his goblet above his head. "To my dearest sister!"

Jaime drank to his new wife, joined enthusiastically by the rest of the people around the table. Tyrion sat down, taking a long drink and grinning triumphantly at Jaime. "Now," he continued. "If only we had some music! It seems very wrong to have a wedding without music! If only…" Tyrion leaned over, looking hard at Bronn, his eyebrows raised significantly. "If _only_ there was someone here with a _voice_ …hmmm?"

Bronn grinned, rolling his eyes. "Fuck's sake…" he murmured under his breath.

"Oh, was that a volunteer?" Tyrion smirked. "Go on, let's hear a song."

"Go on then, Bronn," Jaime pretended to sigh long-sufferingly. "Lets get it over with."

"Yes, go on Bronn!" Pod piped up, confident from the wine.

"No, I couldn't _possibly_ …" Bronn said, feigning modesty as he was goaded by the assembled company. "Oh, alright then," He got to his feet, smiling. "Just for you, Jaime. Since I love you so _very_ much...for paying me."

"Hold on!" Suddenly, the septon pulled out his harp from under the table. He smiled around at the surprised faces. "I brought it along in hope." he admitted. "There is no better way to praise the Seven than through the music they have gifted to us!"

Jaime could have sworn he saw Selwyn roll his eyes after having listened to this for the best part of an hour-but still, he joined in the encouragement to both singer and musician. Bronn coughed a few times, by way of warming up, pulling his chair out and went to stand beside his accompanist. "You'll know this one. Doesn't really praise the gods-other than the wondrously female form they gave unto us, I suppose." he told him, ignoring the septon's slightly shocked look, before addressing the table. He bowed theatrically, a pantomime of pomp, brought on by wine. "I dedicate this song…to my companion, and dare I say, friend, Jaime fucking Lannister…and to his new wife. May you be…as miserable as any other married couple stuck lying with the same person for the rest of your sorry, boring lives."

There was more laughter, before Bronn began to sing:

" _The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun_

 _And her kisses were warmer than spring._

 _The Dornishman's blade, it was made of black steel_

 _And its kiss was a terrible thing!_

 _The Dornishman's wife she would sing as she bathed_

 _In a voice that was sweet as a peach_

 _But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own_

 _And a bite sharp and cold as a leach…"_

Bronn sang loudly, happily, his voice as strong and gorgeous as ever, as the septon strummed along on his harp. This impromptu entertainment was so much better than anything they could have planned, so much rawer and more true to them. Jaime caught Bronn's eye as he sang along under his breath, and they shared a smile. Jaime thought of all the time they had shared on the road, and felt a rush of fondness for the old sellsword, his long-time companion. Perhaps it was the wine…By the end of his song, almost everyone had joined in for the final verse:

" _Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done_

 _The Dornishman's taken my life_

 _But what does it matter for all men must die_

 _And I've tasted the Dornishman's wife_

 _I have_

 _I've tasted the Dornishman's wife_."

Bronn took an overly elaborate bow as the table applauded him, a huge grin on his face. "Well, I'm not sure how appropriate that was for the occasion, but _I_ like it so…fuck all of you."

Jaime patted his back as he sat down, then turned back to Brienne. Conversation resumed around the table, the noise level even higher than before. The septon carried on quietly strumming his harp, tunelessly, providing a comfortable background noise, simple, sweet. Jaime felt such warmth inside him, as if the fireplace had suddenly tripled in temperature. He swore he had never been so happy in his life-not for years anyway. The wine numbing him to any pretences of what may or may not be appropriate, he slid his arm around Brienne's shoulders, kissing her cheek rather more intimately than he ordinarily did in company.

Brienne's cheeks turned noticeably pink-but she did not push him away. Even though she had drunk no wine, she seemed to have caught the tipsy vibe in the room. Instead-she turned and kissed him-with rather less control than she had kissed him during the ceremony. Jaime, hardly even aware of the fact that her father sat only a foot away, now pretending to find the wall behind him very interesting, could not have been happier to return it. Everything was _perfect_.

* * *

Tyrion grinned to himself, sniggering. "Look at him," He jerked his head towards his brother, who so lovingly kissed his new wife. "So glad Jaime finally realised that there are women outside the family circle."

Sansa looked shocked-then giggled, taking another sip of wine. "You cannot say that, I'm sure. my lord!"

Tyrion smiled at her, thinking again of how pretty she was, how sweetly she laughed... "Oh, it's not like he's listening." He leaned back, happily realising just how drunk he was. "I'm so glad for him, truly I am. I'm glad he's finally fallen for someone worthy."

"Rather than falling _on_ Queen _Cersei_ , you mean." Sansa murmured into her goblet.

Tyrion snorted so hard that the wine almost went up what was left of his nose. " _Lady Sansa_!" He gazed at her in astonishment.

Sansa laughed louder, shaking her head. "When one lives in the capital as long as I did, one hears plenty of lewdness." she said lightly-before looking over at Pod, who had found her comment so funny that he seemed to have turned a delicate shade of purple. "Ser Podrick?"

Pod was almost beyond words. He was chuckling hard enough to break his ribs, but keeping his mouth shut in order to muffle the sound. "I'm f-fine, my lady!" he managed to gasp. "Thank you my lady!"

Bronn looked up, his eyebrows raised. "Perhaps Ser Podrick needs to go to bed…"

"Fine!" Pod insisted, sitting up straight and pushing his wine cup away from him. He looked straight at Sansa, a lop-sided smile on his face. "I am p-perfectly fine, my lady."

Sansa smiled indulgently. "As you say, Ser Podrick. Though you seem to have trouble forming your words. Why this sudden stammer?" She sipped her goblet, looking over the rim at Pod, her eyes bright and narrowed.

Pod stared, almost comically gaping at her. "It-it is y-your beauty, m-my lady!" he said, so innocent and childlike that even Tyrion had to laugh.

"Bless him," Tyrion chuckled, catching Sansa's eye. She looked so much older now, so far from the child he had been forced to marry. He hardly recognised them as the same girl-or the same woman. He could do nothing but blame the trauma…thinking about all she had gone through suddenly brought him rather unpleasantly back to sobriety. Again, he hated himself for not being able to protect her. The wedding, their entire marriage, was a sham…he had broken his vow to protect her. It was something that ate away at him in his darkest moments...Tyrion thought about saying as much to her, telling her under the pretense of drunkenness…but…

The septon was still plucking away at his harp…but…Tyrion realised with a start, it no longer seemed random. It was a tune…with a start, in his new soberness…Tyrion recognised it. For it could be no other song. He had known it since the day of his birth…the lyrics popped into his head, as if Bronn was still singing:

 _And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?_

 _Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know…_

Tyrion listened to the Lannister song as the septon strummed it out on his harp, suddenly completely sober. The familiarity of the melody bothered him-it was as if a bad memory was awakening inside him…before he realised that it was _more_ than a bad memory…

 _In a coat of gold, a coat of red, a lion still has claws_

 _And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours_ …

Tyrion got to his feet. He looked at Lady Sansa…and suddenly, in his mind-she transformed into the mother she so resembled. Catelyn Stark, at a feast…a feast for…another wedding. Another wedding, that which every man, woman and child in Westeros had heard tell of. A cold shudder passed through Tyrion's blood as the whole, terrible tale washed over him like a tidal wave. He looked back at Jon Snow, who was pinching little Sam's chubby cheek…and he transformed into his brother, the Young Wolf, Robb Stark, the last King in the North…That day so many years ago…that day in the Twins that had ended a war…and begun so many more…

 _And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere_ …

Suddenly, Tyrion caught the eye of the septon. He looked back at him…and, suddenly…his eyes had become hard, cold… _knowing_ …

Tyrion looked over to his brother Jaime, who held his new bride in his arms, whispering to her, kissing her. Brienne was laughing, gazing up at him, so relaxed, so off-guard, so unaware…

 _And now the rains weep o'er his hall with no one there to hear_ …

Tyrion felt a horrible pang in his gut. The spectre of Cersei loomed before him, eyes wild, flaming, _burning_ …

 _And now the rains weep o'er his hall with not a soul to hear_ …


	32. Chapter 32

**Hello! Thank you billions for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the universe, much love to all. I won't keep you any longer! More tomorrow! xxxxx**

* * *

Tyrion shook his head a few times to get rid of the last of his drunkenness. He looked again at the septon, at his cold, knowing eyes…and immediately turned to Lady Sansa. She was still giggling at Pod-but it was too urgent to wait. He took her arm, rather more roughly than would be otherwise polite.

"My lady!" he hissed.

Sansa turned to him in surprise-the last of her laughter draining from her face as he looked at his. "What's wrong?"

Tyrion kept hold of her arm. "You have to get out of here."

"What?" Sansa frowned, confused. "Why?"

Tyrion glanced back at the septon, subtly but ,so that Sansa could see whom he meant. "Don't look at him…but works for the crown…" he whispered.

Sansa covered her mouth with her fingers to stop herself gasping aloud. She put down her wine glass, deadly serious now. "How can you be certain?" she hissed.

The septon played on, _The Rains of Castermere_ an undercurrent to chatter around them. Tyrion pursed his lips. "Trust me. I know. I know…" His brain was whirring, trying to work out what to do. "We have to get you out of here before the others come."

" _Others_?" It was taking all of Sansa's strength not to panic. But still-she remained as calm as she could, her face set. Tyrion would have deeply admired this if it was not such a dire situation. "What do you mean, _others_?"

"I know how Cersei works…" Tyrion said darkly. He lowered his voice even more. "She would much rather have a commoner get on with her dirty work with the carrot of a hefty reward and the stick of an execution. Everyone in the realm knows that a Lannister always pays her debts. Common people are dispensable to her-Look at that guard boy you had executed-Denys, did Jaime say? She will hardly be missing him. She must keep her good men close, as those are numbered. That septon is after the price on Lady Brienne's head-and the lordship she's probably thrown in with it."

Sansa chanced a look over at the septon, who played on. She went pale as she recognised the tune.. "The Lannister song…" she whispered. Then, she turned back to Tyrion. "Why not just kill him now? Almost everyone here has a sword."

"Almost everyone here is getting _drunk_. He's biding his time." Tyrion indicated the septon's untouched wine glass. "Wait until everyone is pissed enough, sleeping back in their chambers…he'll murder the Lady Brienne in her bed and then…but how would he get away?" Tyrion frowned. "Perhaps he doesn't intend to. Perhaps he has a family-gold, lands and titles for his sons…perhaps he-"

Sansa narrowed her eyes, sceptical now. "How can you possibly arrive at these conclusions?"

"It's my job to think as an enemy thinks." Tyrion muttered, feeling true fear creeping into his chest. He looked again at Jaime. He had never seen him so blissfully unaware, so happy…such an easy target… Tyrion looked again at the septon, still quietly playing his harp…he could have sworn he glanced in Lady Brienne's direction. He knew it could not be certain-but it was too dangerous not to act. "Sansa, you have to get out of here."

"But-"

"Do you think Cersei is having him act alone?" Tyrion hissed. "There are probably others…" He looked back at the door, knowing that the other side was so heavily guarded. "Any one of those men could be another traitor…Winterfell has been infiltrated by the crown before, it will only be easier to do it again. The boy Denys will have reported back everything he learned…it will be easier than ever to get into this castle…to get at anyone inside it…"

Sansa pursed her lips. She looked again at the septon…then nodded. "I trust you."

Tyrion squeezed her arm gratefully. "Go. Take guards you know-guards you _trust_. Go to your chamber, lock the door and do not open it for _anyone_. I will send word when it is safe. You must-"

"What are you two whispering about?" Jon Snow suddenly said loudly, frowning over at his sister, eyeing Tyrion suspiciously. "Sansa, what is he saying to you?"

Tyrion quickly recovered himself. "Lady Sansa was simply-"

"I can speak for myself," Sansa said firmly, getting to her feet. "I was just telling Lord Tyrion how tired I was. I think I ought to go to bed." She pushed her chair back in under the table, beginning to make to leave. "It has been a long day." She smiled as brightly as she could at Brienne and Jaime. "Seven blessings on you both! Goodnight."

"Seven blessings, my lady." said Jaime politely-but Brienne was staring strangely at Sansa. She knew her too well not to suspect.

"My lady?" she asked, straightening up, a concerned expression on her face. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" Sansa said desperately…but she was a terrible liar.

Brienne got to her feet, despite Jaime's effort to stop her. "My lady?" she asked again-far more seriously.

Jon was still looking straight at Tyrion. "What were you just saying to my sister?" he demanded, eyeing Tyrion with dislike, mistrust. He got up-clearly, he had been holding this back all day. "I don't know that I like this. You turning up here in the nick of time before we move South, with an army of eunuchs and a new, _perfect_ queen with _three dragons_." Jon narrowed his eyes. "Telling us to abandon our cause to put your queen on the throne-a queen who has never set foot in Westeros, who knows nothing of what is coming from the North-"

Tyrion looked up at him, exasperated. "I have told you, as hand of the queen, I will-"

"I know what you said. You talk too much." Jon's hand was inching for Longclaw. " _Hand of the queen_ , are you? So when she took the throne, _you'd_ be the most powerful man in Westeros. How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you're not working for your sister Cersei after all?"

Tyrion felt a pang of anger at this accusation. "You know I would _never_ -"

" _Do_ I?" Jon glared at him. "I don't want you putting ideas into my sister's head. She's had enough of manipulation from men like you!"

"Lady Sansa," Brienne had left her seat and rushed to Sansa, looking her in the eyes. "What is going on?"

Sansa opened her mouth-but no words came out.

"Come on," Jaime got to his feet, leaning on the table for support. "There is no need for this."

"No need at all." Selwyn joined him, his voice steady, giving him a nod of support. "Let Lady Sansa get to bed. She must be tired. To be honest, I think we are _all_ tired." He gave the fiery Jon a significant look, raising his eyebrows at the now permanent purple bags under his eyes. "Perhaps we should call it a day."

Tyrion could not help but look horrified. His eyes flicked from the septon, who calmly played, to Sansa, to Jaime, to-

"Lord Tyrion?" Brienne turned to him. Her eyes were set-she was far from stupid. "Has something happened?"

Tyrion felt every eye in the room bore into him. He opened his mouth- "There is-"

Suddenly-shaking the very timbers of the room-there was an almighty crash from below.

Jon jumped. He whipped around-but before he could say a word-a Winterfell guard burst through the door. "My Lord! It's-it's the queen's army! They're here!"

* * *

It was carnage in the yard below. The onslaught of Lannister men was not altogether unexpected by the Northerners-still-they had not expected their battering ram. For this battering ram was like nothing that they had ever seen before. It was not a weapon…it was a _man_. They had heard tell of stories about such things living far beyond the wall, far away. They had seen a giant before, for the mighty Wun-Wun had fallen inside the gates of Winterfell, but never, never such a man as this…never a man such as this…

Never a man who could single-handedly murder a dozen soldiers without having to raise his sword once. Never a man whose single punch could not only penetrate the gates of Winterfell, but crush a man against a wall so that his brains spilled out onto the snow below. Never a man…the only Northerners who saw the finest details of this man were soon dead afterwards…with grey, stone-like skin, blood-red eyes burning out from behind his helmet.

It was as if the Seven Hells had opened up, and spat out Ser Gregor Clegane. The Mountain, whose name had never seemed more apt, the greatest fighter in the seven kingdoms now somehow doubled. Swords, arrows, axes…nothing seemed able to hurt him as he ploughed through the Northern soldiers who resisted him as if they were mere children. He made no sound, despite the screams of dying men that hollered in his wake. He had a task to do…and there was no force in the world that could stop him from fulfilling it.

* * *

"We must hide Lady Sansa!" Tyrion did not miss a beat. "Cersei wants her dead, she still thinks she murdered Joffrey- _no, not her chamber_!" He stopped Jon as he began to give orders to the guards, having a change of heart. "That will be the first place they will look for her!"

"Then where?" Sansa turned sharply back to Tyrion. Tyrion gave her a long look. He did not know what to do for the best. The sounds of battle drifted up from outside-swords clashing, men shouting, men dying...

"The crypt." Jon suddenly said, his eyes lighting up. He turned to the guard who had given the message, who was white as a sheet. "Escort Lady Sansa down to the crypt immediately."

"At once, my lord!" the guard said, glad of a set task to do in the chaos.

"Wait!" Pod leapt up from his place at the table, clumsily drawing his sword. His drunkenness still slurred his words a little. "I will guard her, my lord! I will guard her with my life!"

Jon did not look convinced-but he nodded impatiently, waving them away. "Keep her safe! Don't let anyone see you!"

As Sansa was ushered quickly from the room-Tyrion turned back to Jaime. "You must hide Lady Brienne. They have come for her. They have come for her now." He took a step towards his brother. "Hide any way you can. If anyone sees Brienne, she is dead." He looked up at Brienne, his eyes wide and serious.

Brienne had turned pale-but she nodded, drawing Oathkeeper. Her mouth became a tight line of determination as she looked at Jaime. "We have survived worse than this together."

"You keep her safe," came Selwyn's voice. The old lord had already drawn his own sword, but he was looking hard at Jaime. "You keep her _safe_. And yourself." he added-but he was sincere, looking at Jaime almost as if looking at his own son.

Jaime looked straight into the old lord's eyes, feeling the fatherly gaze more keenly than ever. It almost pained him-but his voice was sturdy from its strength. "I swear it." In a single movement, Jaime had drawn his sword-and led Brienne from the room.

The moment the door slammed shut behind them-Tyrion turned to Jon Snow. "You are in charge, Lord Commander. Tell us how we are going to destroy my sister's army-"

But before anyone could say a word-the Septon had thrown his harp aside with a huge, musical _clang_ , produced a dagger-and stabbed Bronn in the gut.

* * *

Lady Sansa ran as fast as she could, following the guard down what felt like hundreds of flights of stairs, down, down, down, hearing Pod panting behind her. She had made this journey thousands of times-though never this fast. She remembered her mother shouting at her and her siblings to be careful on the stairs, lest they fall in their enthusiasm…she ran on, close behind the guard, Pod at her heels.

Finally, when the air had turned colder than ever…they were inside the crypt.

Sansa looked around at the gloomy darkness, at the statues, so chilling, so familiar…she had played here as a child, played amongst the effigies and tombs…before anyone in her living memory had joined the bones of her long-dead ancestors. Now she knew that her father and little Rickon rested here…it felt like the opposite of a playground…

But there was no time to contemplate. She had to hide.

"My lady!" Pod called suddenly. The freezing air seemed to have sobered him up-as, groaning, he prized the lid from an empty tomb, waiting for a future Stark to fill it.

"Podrick!" the guard yelled. Sansa noticed that he had red hair and freckles. He could not have been much older than she was. "What are you _doing_?"

"Hide her here." Pod explained. He looked up at Sansa, his speech still imperfect. "Safest place. No one look inside a tomb. Sorry, my lady. We hide behind…in case we need to protect you…if you please, my lady…" He held out a hand to help her.

Feeling sick, Sansa climbed down into the tomb. Now, living, she would hide among the dead...Pod smiled down at her in what was meant to be a reassuring manner-but nothing could reassure her now. Every cell of her body seemed to be shaking with fear. She lay, folding her hands over her chest, the stone beneath her freezing, already horribly claustrophobic…but that was nothing compared to the moment that Pod reluctantly pushed the stone lid over her, shutting her in with a thud.

* * *

Jaime half ran along the corridor, his sword ready in his hand. He checked around every corner, before hurrying forth. Brienne moved as fast as she could behind him, Oathkeeper primed. They did not say a word to one another-the shock of it was too much. It seemed insane that only a few hours before they had wed-and now they ran for their lives…Brienne could not stop guilt racing around her head. She knew that if Lady Sansa died tonight it would be her fault…but there was no time to dwell on it now. She had to keep moving…she had to follow Jaime as quickly as she could...but it was difficult…so _difficult_ …the baby slowed her down…tired her more quickly…she found herself falling a metre behind him-two- _three_ -

Noises. Nosies behind them. Noises of men. Noises of _soldiers_ …

Suddenly-hands appeared from nowhere. They wrapped around Brienne's neck, slamming a hand to her mouth and pulling her into a gap in the walls.

"Ja-!" She began to scream-but the hand clenched tighter over her mouth.

"Brienne? _Brienne_!" Jaime screamed outside, panicking at her disappearance-but the sounds of men had grown louder. A huge set of footsteps came down the corridor-too heavy for a man…they could belong to none but a monster-a monster who was heading directly towards the man Brienne loved. A dozen other men ran behind the beast, yelling and shouting to one another. Brienne heard Jaime yell her name a final time-before he was silenced by a loud bang…followed by the sound of a man falling to the floor.

" _J_ -!" She tried again-but the hand slapped itself even tighter over her lips. Without warning-a voice came.

"Do stop shouting, my dear. You must be silent." Brienne realised whom her captor was with a start-it was Lord Vary, hissing in her ear. "Cersei's troops are under orders to take Ser Jaime living-and to see you dead. You cannot help him. You will die."

" _Couldn't run forever, could you, Kingslayer_?" came a soldier's voice from outside, loud and mocking. " _No man living, especially not a cripple, could escape the Mountain_!"

" _Shame we have to take him alive_!" Another voice. " _I would love to see Ser Gregor smash his head in, just like he did with that snake Oberyn Martell_!"

Brienne felt nothing but ice cold fear and white-hot rage. She did not care that _Gregor Clegane_ was out there, that he was surrounded by a dozen others. It was her _husband_ , for the sake of the gods, it was _Jaime_ -she struggled as hard as she could against Varys, trying to bite his hand, scratch his arms, kick him. "I _have_ to-!"

"You have to survive." Varys held her fast, shushing her desperately. "Come, my dear, there isn't much time. You must do as I say if you want your baby to live to see his own birth."

* * *

All Jaime could hear was low, deafening alien breathing behind him. His arms were bound tightly to his sides. His sword had been taken from him…and he was held captive by the barely human Gregor Clegane…all he could smell was rotting flesh.

"…we have scoured the castle and have not discovered Sansa Stark." A Lannister general with strawberry-blonde hair and a short beard was addressing Jon Snow at the front of the room. Jon was bleeding from a battle-wound to his head-but had refused to go up to the room in which Samwell Tarly now frantically treated the wounded from the fight. Jaime felt a pang as he remembered that Lord Selwyn was up there, bleeding, Bronn, bleeding…he wondered whether Tyrion had managed to hide himself...perhaps he was also bleeding…but these thoughts were only fleeting. He could barely think on anyone except-

"…and so we must assume that you do not know the whereabouts of your sister?"

"Aye," Jon agreed, meeting the general's eyes. "Haven't seen her for years."

"Lord… _Snow_." The general seemed to be satisfied-but he continued to speak, in a rather patronising tone. "Following our settled agreement to end tonight's violence, I lay before you these terms from Her Grace Queen Cersei, First of her Name: First, that, upon the orders of Her Majesty, the Kingslayer returns to Kings Landing with us."

Jaime felt his stomach drop sickeningly, as if he had just been thrown from a cliff.

"Second: A new Warden of the North will be sent by the crown to replace him. You are expected and required to obey, as they shall be Her Grace's representative in the North."

Jon managed to continue to meet his eyes. "Aye." he said flatly.

"And lastly…any _further_ attempt at rebellion will result in…" The general eyed Jon, his voice taking on a dull, learned-by-heart tone. "…every flake of snow in the North being turned to ashes, every castle turned to rubble and every man, woman and child burned alive in their beds." He coughed a little, but stood upright. "On behalf of Queen Cersei, I hope that I have made myself clear."

Jon merely shrugged. He looked a broken man, as he turned slowly away. He looked up at the direwolf sigil that hung on the wall…and Jaime saw Jon sigh heavily, like a man who had given everything he had to give…and still failed. But Jaime barely thought on it as he turned back to the general who spoke. Something…something unthinkable was beginning to climb his throat, threatening to strangle him…

" _Where is Brienne_?" he finally shouted-ignoring the heavy breathing of the Mountain, the tugging of the chains from the soldiers who held him, the hisses of "Silent, kingslayer!" Jaime was deaf to them all. He looked desperately around the room, a man truly on the edge, a man with nothing more to lose if his greatest fear had been realised...

" _Where is my wife_?"

There was a short silence

Finally…a white blonde-haired man in full Lannister armour, with a large and distracting mole on his cheek…stepped forward. The soldier held something up in his hand as, something he clearly was anxious to put down. Jaime stared at the Something he presented to the room. Something dripping in newly spilled blood, something with horrible, fresh entrails stuck to it, something that reeked of torture and death…It was tattered, torn almost beyond recognition…but it was _blue_ …

 _Brienne's dress._

Jaime looked at it for a few moments, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide, hardly able to believe what was before his eyes, refusing to believe that the gods could even consider standing back to watch this happen…before he was rendered incapable of thought.

Jaime fell to his knees, half fainting, half wordlessly, silently screaming...

At last-darkness consumed him.


	33. Chapter 33

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* * *

Brienne could remember nothing of how Varys had smuggled her out of Winterfell. She hardly remembered tearing her beautiful wedding dress off and giving it over to Varys' spy, the Lannister solider with the huge mole on his cheek…she knew she must have pulled on these new clothes at some time, this strange tunic and leggings-she remembered holding onto Jaime's red cloak against Varys' hurried advice, refusing to let it go. That was around the time she thought she must have begun to cry, for everything else was blurred with tears…

Somehow, she had found herself climbing onto this slender, chestnut-coloured mare, whipping her hard so that she galloped as fast as her sleek, muscled legs would carry her, away from the battle at Winterfell, away from everyone, away from Jaime…he had been captured by the soldiers, he had been captured by Cersei, by the crown…he would be forced to return to Kings Landing… She had clung onto the horse for dear life, scarlet cloak covering her, as they raced away, Winterfell disappearing far into the distance…it was then that she realised with a start exactly how alone she was.

She had ridden on, on and on, never allowing her horse to slow down, never allowing herself to give up, racing on through her tears, crying out to the wind and snow as she flew from Winterfell, from everyone she loved, from everyone she had to protect…

Only the person she loved and had to protect the most was with her, with her all the time... She wondered briefly how dangerous riding had to be with the baby-but she had to go on, holding on, trusting the horse all she could, trusting her experience to guide her and her baby through this maelstrom of horror and danger…On and on and on…Even after the sun rose, they rode on…

* * *

Jaime's horse had to be guided through the snow by another, since he would not or could not grip the reins. Arms bound, hands bound, feet bound to the stirrups…

"Come now, Kingslayer!" called the blonde-haired general who had been the spokesman the previous day. "There is no need to make this harder on yourself! It's only two days' ride to the ship now-soon you will be home in Kings Landing!"

Nothing.

The Mountain rode behind him. His horse was huge, heavy-set and jet-black. He was as silent as the man he guarded. His bright red eyes stared straight ahead out of his helmet. Jaime's…just stared, without seeing. The snowflakes did not seem to stick to the Mountain-as if he melted them by simple contact. The remains of the Lannister army rode behind, their horses leaving tracks in the snow, each man primed in case of an escape attempt by their prisoner...though every one of them knew in his heart that escape was beyond Jaime now. There was nothing left in him…he simply…was. Nothing more than that.

One soldier, only several horses behind the Kingslayer, bit his lip anxiously. He scratched the mole on his cheek-but kept himself upright, his expression blank, his horse sure. As he watched the man who had been Ser Jaime Lannister being tugged along, no more life in him than a corpse, pity stabbed at his heart. Half of him wanted to pull Ser Jaime aside, tell him that his wife was alive, that her dress had been smeared in pig guts, that she had escaped Winterfell…but he rode on. There was no way he could tell him. Besides-he was fearful to go anywhere near him. As motionless, as lifeless as Ser Jaime seemed, the soldier knew the lengths a man with nothing will go to…

"Kingslayer!" called the blonde-haired general, his tone mocking. "Fallen asleep, has he?"

Jaime's eyes were wide open.

"Did Ser Gregor here rip out your tongue to match that hand of yours?"

Nothing.

"Anything to say for yourself?"

Nothing.

"Ah, never mind." The blonde-haired general rolled his eyes, turning his head back to the front. "Let him stew. Quicker we get him home, happier Her Grace will be. A _far_ superior state of affairs than an _unhappy_ queen, wouldn't you agree? Anyway…" The general sniffed, bored. "Bloody freezing, isn't it? How about a song, hey boys? Warm us up? What's that one about the bear?"

" _The bear, the bear and the maiden fair_ …"

The mole-soldier looked back at Ser Jaime, his heart heavy.

Nothing.

* * *

Finally, Brienne stopped her horse beside a river, which had not entirely frozen over. Her hands shaking from fear and the bitter cold, she managed to climb down from the stirrups, her knees almost giving way beneath her. Every one of her muscles burned, every inch of her colder than she had ever been in her life. The sheer exposure was a shock to her after months in Winterfell, with its fires and furs…now all she had was the scarlet cloak.

It took all of her strength to lead the horse over to the water, so that she could drink. The mare bent her head gratefully, lapping up the icy water. Holding firmly to the horses reins in her shaking hand, carefully Brienne knelt onto the frozen mud of the river bank, scooping water over her face. It was so cold that her hands screamed against it…but she must drink…she must survive…

She looked all around her. There were trees, emerald evergreens, naked summer trees without so much a leaf as the frost slowly killed them…she could not stay here. She had to keep moving…

She let her horse drink her fill, wrapping Jaime's cloak as tightly around her as she could. She curled herself up tightly, protectively. It was clear that without the cloak, its heaviness, its soft furs, she would probably have died already…and her baby-

A small movement inside her, not so feather-like as he grew. He was so strong-perhaps multiple attempts on his life already had toughened him to anything…Brienne wrapped her arms protectively over her belly, willing all of her remaining body heat to concentrate there to keep him warm…she felt more tears beginning to flow down her cheeks as she thought of him, of the danger he was in still, of how close he had come, so many times, to death…She wiped her cheeks furiously, the bitter wind knifing at her. She could not stay here-she had to keep going…but where? She could not return to Winterfell, Jaime was-

 _Jaime._

Suddenly-something colder than anything the elements could drown her in hit her like a lightning bolt, squarely in the heart.

She had seen Jaime at his very best…and at his very worst…his _very_ worst…the worst place a human could reach. The day after he had lost his hand, bound by the Bolton soldiers, kicked through mud, tortured almost to death…he had almost chosen death for himself.

Jaime would think her dead. He would think their baby dead.

If he had become suicidal over the loss of a hand…there was no doubt in Brienne's mind that, believing he had lost his wife and child…

New ice cold flames erupted inside her. Her pain, her tiredness, her desperation seemed to triple as she climbed carefully, but frantically, back onto her horse and set her off towards the south east-towards White Harbor and ships South.

* * *

Tyrion should have known better. He should have prepared better. He should have…there were a million things that he should have done. Kept the Unsullied close, prepared for Cersei's inevitable attack the moment he reached Winterfell, made a plan in case they had to hide. His only comforts were that he had survived, that Sansa had survived, that Jon still sat at Winterfell despite the impending new Warden, that…that was the end of it. That was it.

Jaime was gone. Jaime was being marched south towards a ship that would take him back to Cersei, back into the jaws of her Kings Landing. And there was nothing he could do. He hadn't been able to protect him. _Where were those dragons now?_ he thought bitterly. Any one of the three of them would have been able to defend Winterfell, to stop any man of the crown setting foot inside, even fucking Gregor Clegane…they were loyal to their mother, and only to their mother...

Thank the gods for Jon Snow. Ned's bastard had coped with much more dire situations as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Tyrion had been heartened to watch his maturity, the skill with which he put the castle back together after the attack. Only his angst betrayed him, his self-loathing that Winterfell had been infiltrated under his lordship, though at least he had not been completely defeated-the battle had ended on an agreement rather than a loss-but that was his age. No one was perfect. Tyrion had always had a soft spot for cripples, bastards and broken things, and Jon had truly rose to the occasion, spending all his spare hours with Tyrion speaking of Daenerys and her success as a conqueror, everything she had done, her plans for the future. He was almost convinced to follow her. Sometimes, Tyrion even swore he saw flashes of her in Jon...when he looked a certain way, said certain things...it was very strange. Perhaps they would be good allies after all.

But his own blood, his cripple brother now being escorted back to their tyrannical sister's side…Tyrion could not completely trust that she would not hurt Jaime-his heart reminded him of their bond, like nothing else in the world, even if Jaime had…perhaps it would be shattered now though, once she knew that he was a widowed man…

Or not widowed.

The news that Brienne had lived, had escaped Winterfell, had been kept firmly under wraps. Tyrion knew, for Varys had whispered him the news in confidence the moment that Jaime had been pulled from the castle. But that was all. Winterfell was in a state of mourning. Lady Sansa's state at her "death" was heart-breaking, so much so that Tyrion found himself unable to look at her when they passed in the corridors. Jon Snow did not speak of it, though Tyrion knew he was distressed. Tormund barely spoke t all, apart from to discuss plans. Bronn did not sing or smile or crack jokes, still bed-bound from his injuries. And as for Pod…Tyrion had heard him quietly sobbing at night.

It was more than he could bear to hear-but they could not risk the news that she lived getting out, or Cersei would surely send more troops North. Cersei _had_ to believe her dead. And the less people who knew the truth, the less chance there was of the truth getting out.

Perhaps that was one good thing. Every man who had known Brienne, from Jon Snow to even the smallest of squires, now wanted nothing more than to defeat Cersei. Maybe that would translate as more willing to join Daenerys, for she was the best hope of doing so.

There was one person he had _had_ to tell though. He could not bear the thought of Lord Selwyn thinking his only daughter dead when she was not. The first thing he had done, before the news had got out over the castle, was found Selwyn, being treated for severe injury to his leg. The old lord had nearly lost it, but, his eyes wide from milk of the poppy, he had listened to Tyrion hiss the truth in his ear before making him swear to keep silent, for the sake of her safety-Cersei had to believe her dead. Selwyn had not been seen in the castle since, locked inside his room, refusing to speak with anyone. It passed off well as a show of grief for the child he had lost…but Tyrion he was doing nothing but biding his time until his leg healed enough to ride, so that he could go after his daughter.

Unless Brienne had died already.

Tyrion shook his head. No. She was alive, he knew it. She was one of the best warriors in the Seven Kingdoms-she knew how to protect herself, how to stay alive-but she was _pregnant_ …That would surely complicate things. Complicate things _a lot_. It occurred to him that she should not even be riding-did she know that?…then again, most women perhaps a mere two months from their time did not have homicidal queens on their tail.

* * *

The night was unbearable. Brienne's hands had gone completely numb on the reins. Her legs were on fire, though they froze. She felt as if she was dying…and the horse was slowing…she tried the last of her strength…but she was slowing down…slowing…stopping…

Brienne had to slide off of the horse before she collapsed to the floor with a loud whinny of pain and exhaustion. Brienne felt exactly the same way, only tenfold. There was some kind of tree spreading above them, its pins still dark green despite the snow…some kind of animal making some kind of noise in the distance...Her own legs gave way from under her, and she sank down onto the snow. Every part of her was in agony-

Before she knew what was happening-she vomited violently onto the ground.

By the time it was over…her head was dizzy. Try as she might, she could not get to her feet…She gritted her teeth, thinking of her child, thinking of Jaime…but it was as if she had turned to stone…she could not move…she could not think…her burning muscles and aching bones had gone limp…her eyes were closing…

She passed out beneath the tree, wrapped tightly in her cloak, as snow fell around her.

* * *

"Kingslayer!" The general spoke louder, calling back to his prisoner. "I am talking to you!"

Nothing.

The crown soldiers were gathered around a large fire, which roared and crackled, keeping them almost warm despite the snow. The men laughed, passing meat and ale, talking mostly about women and wars. Jaime had been tied firmly to a tree just outside of the circle. He did not seem to feel the cold, or the warmth. He simply stared without seeing, his head bowed. His bread and meat lay beside him, untouched.

"You ought to be glad of your horse!" the general shouted to him. "I wanted to have you walk back to the ship, like a common footsoldier! Lucky your sister sits on the throne, or I might have dragged you behind us!"

There was laughter around. The soldiers ate and drank, glad to share a joke after the battle the previous day. Still…nothing.

"You should be grateful that I am a kind man!" the general said-to more sceptical laughter from his men.

" _If you were truly a kind man, you would give me my sword and let me fall on it!_ "

Suddenly-Jaime's head jerked up. His voice was no more than a rasp, after silence for so long. His eyes were...they could only be described as _mad_. As mad as his sister. He was so frightening and pathetic to look at that it was hardly possible to do so.

The general looked back at Jaime for a moment-before he chuckled, shaking his head. "Not so fast, there, precious. I am to return you to your sister _alive_. She was very specific about that. She must at least see you before I get my pay. Then-well, I don't really care what you do after that. Be my guest-fall on your fucking sword the second you see Her Grace! It might even be amusing! Just not before. Understand?" He turned back to his men, and quickly conversation resumed, drinking, even laughter.

The mole-soldier looked over at Jaime, his ale paused half-way to his mouth. He felt almost sick with guilt.

But Jaime had returned to-nothing.

* * *

" _Dad_! Dad, there's another corpse in't 'yard!"

" _Another_ one?" Saebastyn groaned loudly, putting down the cows foot he was picking free of stones. The animal gave a low moan as he did. "Alright! Don't shit yourself, I'm coming back!" he told it impatiently, before climbing over the gate of his barn. "Stick your head in that scran there and shut up!" The fussy cow did as she was told, burying her face in the bucket of food before her. The noise the cows made as a whole was almost deafening, but the man was so used to it by now that the morning air felt weirdly empty as he crossed the yard towards where his son's shout had come from.

"Where is it, lad?"

"Over 'ere! Beneath the tree!"

Saebastyn rolled his eyes. "When will these bastards learn that just dumping their dead in our yard don't mean free service? Do they think your mother's got time for this? Bloody cheek of it…" He made his way through the snow. "Maggie!" he called back to the house. "Maggie, love! There's another one!"

"Over 'ere, Dad!"

Saebastyn reached the tree, finding his eldest son stood beside it, looking a bit lost. "I _think_ it's a woman?" he said, sounding unsure. "I cannae tell."

"Well, gods be good, Robbert, if you've made it t'fifteen and still cannae tell which is which, there's owt hope for you now, is there?" Saebastyn clocked his son lightly about the head, before looking down-and taking in the body which lay beneath the tree. He whistled low. "I take it all back, lad." he said, leaning back, hands on his hips. "This one's got me."

Whoever lay on the ground beneath the tree was tall, taller than even Saebastyn was. Their hair was yellow, their face pale…and they were mostly obscured by a large, heavy scarlet cloak. Saebastyn crouched down beside the corpse, narrowing his eyes-when he noticed the fur that lined the cloak. He gave a low whistle. "This ain't no one from round here, Robb. Where's y'mother? Fetch her now!"

"Aye!" Robbert began to jog towards the house, shouting for her.

Saebastyn turned back to the body. He put his head to one side. It _was_ a woman…it had to be, now he really looked down at her. He looked at the cloak again, such a beautiful red, such fine material, so well-made, so expertly lined with fur…Why was a highborn lady like this lying dead in his yard?

Curiosity got the better of him. He leaned down-and carefully removed the cloak to look at her.

Three things shocked him.

First-the huge, glinting blade at her waist, the most magnificent sword he had ever seen. That _had_ to be real gold-and was it _Valyrian_ steel? He had heard tell of swords like this-but he had never seen one in his life…he noticed the intricate patterns on the handle, the lion's head, the red jewel in the centre…wait…red. _Red_ …with a _lion's head_. The scarlet cloak. Her hair was yellow. He thought of the only high house he knew who carried the lion banners, whose lords and ladies had yellow hair and wore red and gold...it was a house loathed throughout the North. Loathed even by the common people here, freezing in the snow.

This woman was a _Lannister_.

Second-he leapt back a foot when he took in the swell of her belly beneath her tunic. She was _pregnant_ -and-

Third-She was _breathing_.

Saebastyn turned back to the house in horror. "MAGGIE!"


	34. Chapter 34

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* * *

"Come on, Kingslayer!" Jaime was manhandled to his feet and lifted onto his horse by three crown soldiers. He waited as he was tied firmly into place on the saddle, his feet bound to the stirrups, the chains pinning his arms to his sides and binding his wrists together checked and doubled checked. He could feel hands touching him, tugging at his bounds, the horse breathing steadily beneath him, the leather of the saddle, the clothes on his skin, the snow on his face. Somewhere in the distance he could hear voices beside him, talking about everything that no longer mattered.

A piece of bread was shoved in his face. " _Eat_." The hand tried to push the food towards his mouth-but Jaime kept his lips firmly shut.

"You will have to eat sometime, Kingslayer!" It was the voice of the blonde general. In his hazy vision, Jaime could see his face, staring up at him cheerfully. "As I am contracted to keeping you alive, I may have to resort to more…persuasion."

Jaime did not react. He did not look down. He did not even blink.

"Ah, so be it. Whatever makes you happy." The general shook his head, before turning around. "We had better get going. If we're quick about it, and don't have any trouble from this one, we'll reach the coast tonight."

The men moved on, leading Jaime's horse forth. He could vaguely hear the horse's hooves, feel the movement beneath him, the cold wind in his face. It was as if he was feeling them all through a layer of glass, as if they were not quite real. Nothing felt real any more. He was not real any more. Nothing could touch him-truly touch him. He was sealed off from the world, from everyone. Even the air, which he continued to inhale and exhale, was not real. He wished to every god there was that he could simply stop breathing, simply stop taking in air and letting it out…but he continued so unconsciously to do so. He wanted to rip his lungs from his chest, just to stop this taking in of cold air and breathing out, this constant reminder that he still lived, that he was alive, and Brienne…

Jaime could not even summon the energy to scream, to cry, to do anything…

Still, in his pocket, hard and cold against his skin…the wooden lion cub.

* * *

There was a strange smell…as Brienne became aware of her breathing, aware of some kind of warmth, aware…the _smell_ …it smelled like...she didn't know…but something smelled…her eyes opened a fraction…then closed again…

"Hello?"

A strange voice from beside her.

Instantly-Brienne's eyes snapped open. Her hand shot down to her waist for Oathkeeper-but her fingers closed on nothing but thin air. Slowly, the haze above her eyes cleared. She realised that there was a wooden roof above her head…and she was lying on some sort of straw mattress. Her cloak had been thrown over her….and her sword was gone. Panic set in-

"There now!" The strange voice was back-and a strange hand gently held onto her shoulder. "There now! You're quite safe!"

Brienne barely heard it. She tried to shoot up to a sitting position-but her head was so _dizzy_ …slowly, everything came back to her-then all at one. She gasped aloud.

"Lie down! There now, dear, relax…y'cannae be getting up now." The hand gently pushed her down onto the bed. Brienne looked up-realising that the voice belonged to a woman. Gradually, her eyes focused on the face who looked down at her. It was older than she was, the lines prominent-but the hair was still dark brown, wild and frizzy. The eyes were grey, quite large and bulging. The thin lips smiled down at her-a nervous smile trying desperately not to seem so. She looked at Brienne as if she was a queen. Brienne felt fear spreading over every cell of her body.

"Who are you?" she demanded, trying again to sit back up but finding herself too weak. "What is this place?"

To her amazement-the woman who sat beside her began to laugh. She looked behind her, calling to another room. "Saeb! Y'were right! Y'should hear the way she talks! She _must_ be highborn!."

"What?" Brienne was more confused than ever. She realised that there was a fire beside her, a small fire, but a fire none the less. The warmth felt almost heavenly…but she was too scared to think on it. _Where was her sword?_ She checked once again, just in case-but Oathkeeper was gone. Suddenly-she felt a small movement inside her. The baby was alive, he was strong, he was...the thought of him only made her more horrified.

"Maggie?" Another voice, a man's voice, from a distance away, echoing off the wood of the walls. "Has she woken up?"

"She has, love!" the woman named Maggie called back. Then, she turned back to Brienne, who was still feeling frantically for Oathkeeper. "Ah now, there's no need for that! Relax, dear, no one here is gonna hurt you! Lie down now, dear…eh…I mean… _m'lady_?" she tried, uncertainly.

Footsteps marched towards the room. There was no door, simply an arch that separated this room from the next. A man appeared-a tall man, well built, his muscles clear beneath his simple clothes. His hair was chestnut brown…chestnut brown…her horse…

"Who are you?" Brienne asked again, sliding further away on the mattress from both of the strangers, looking frantically around the room for her sword. "Where am I?"

The woman named Maggie inexplicably burst out laughing again. "Listen to her! She really talks like a proper lady, don't she?"

"Stop that, Mags," The man approached her, extreme nervousness all over his face. Uncertainly-he made a small bow. " _M'lady_?" He straightened up, not knowing what to do next.

Brienne was baffled. She stared from man to woman, confused-but somehow, slightly less scared. The man, despite his size, looked like a rabbit caught in a trap. The woman, despite her familiarity, was looking at her as if she was royalty, suddenly landed in her home. It made her uncomfortable. But wherever she was-she had to move. She had to move on fast. "Where am I?" she asked again.

The man looked a little baffled. "You're, eh…on…on me farm, m'lady."

"About twenty miles south of Castle Cerwyn," Maggie answered, more calm than her husband. "Is that where you were riding from, m'lady?"

"Of course not, that's the seat of House Cerwyn!" the man said quickly. "They're bannermen of the Starks!"

"Oh, do shut up, Saebastyn!" Maggie rolled her eyes, looking down at Brienne with a knowing smile. "Don't worry about him. You're quite safe here."

Saebastyn turned darkly to the wall. "It's _our_ safety I'm worried about…"

"Castle Cerwyn?" Brienne rubbed her forehead. _Shit_. Is that all the ground she had covered? She was still days from White Harbor…

"Yes, dear. Twenty miles past." Maggie nodded kindly. "My son found you in our yard, m'lady, next to your horse. She's tied up in the barn, don't worry." The woman gently patted Brienne's hair, comforting her. "You must rest-"

" _Don't touch her_!" Saebastyn hissed to his wife agitatedly. "Think of what'll happen to us if we harm her! It's bad enough having her in the house! D'you know what her family would do to us if she was hurt?" He rolled his eyes, sighing hard. "Sorry, m'lady, meaning no offence-"

Brienne hardly listened. She looked at them, trying to keep her voice as polite and ordinary as possible in her panic. "Thank you so much for your help. You are most kind. But I really must go now. If you know where my sword is, then-"

"Eh? Oh, you cannae go anywhere now!" Maggie stroked Brienne's hair, ignoring her husband. "Y'have to rest. I would never forgive m'self if I sent you back out into the snow, the way y'are! What were you doing, riding if your condition? So dangerous-"

" _Maggie_!" Saebastyn hissed again, running his hands through his own hair, sighing stressfully. "So sorry, m'lady, meaning no off-"

"I mean, don't you lords and ladies ride in carriages? Or them litter things?" Maggie asked, bending down to the floor and coming up with a bucket of warm water and a cloth. Gently, she pressed the warm, wet cloth to Brienne's forehead. It was very pleasant-but Brienne could not relax. _Lords and ladies? Family?_ "Especially since your family are… Of course we were worried when we found you. Thought y'were another corpse!-eh-begging y'pardon, m'lady. Meaning nothing by it." she said, with a pacifying look at her husband.

Brienne managed to meet her eyes. " _Thank_ you." she repeated, still uncertain. But she could not sake the feeling of paranoia. "Do you know who I am?"

Maggie coughed a little. "Well…"

"The red cloak. The lion sword. It was quite-eh-m'lady?" Saeb gave another bow. It seemed to be a nervous tick he had developed since she had awoken.

Suddenly-it clicked. " _Lannister_?"

"Well, yes, m'lady." Maggie nodded, suddenly looking slightly more nervous to hear it aloud. "Your family hold the Iron Throne-it was certainly a fright when we found you outside our own farm! What in the world has happened to you?"

Brienne was more shocked than ever. She looked up at the two faces, staring down at her in such wonder. Finally, her brain seemed to have clicked into action. If she did not deny being a Lannister, this was the _North_. Northerners hated Lannisters. But if she told the truth…what if word got out that Brienne of Tarth was still alive? What if word reached the crown? Cersei had spies everywhere…it may be the lesser of two threats. "Where is my sword?" she asked instead, in case she needed to protect herself. She did not trust anyone-even this kind-faced woman and her nervous husband who smelled of beef.

"Don't say where-" Saebastyn began, fear rising in his eyes.

"On the shelf, dear." Maggie said firmly, again ignoring her husband. "Couldn't have the children getting at it. Don't worry. _Rest_."

Brienne looked straight at Saebastyn. "I am not going to hurt you." she said, in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. "But I have to go now. I have to get to-I mean, I have to-"

" _Rest_." Maggie said firmly. "You shouldn't ride in your condition, m'lady-why do you think you fainted? And right here, so I could look after you? That was the gods making their will known." She gently dabbed Brienne's forehead with the damp cloth in a motherly way. "The Mother is protecting you, and your child. Clearly, it's more important that you both survive than you get to wherever it is y'going. Now, you really must rest, for the sake of your baby. He will have had quite a turn today! Besides, it is an honour to host a _lady_ beneath our own roof."

 _Mother_ …her wedding vows swum into her head…Brienne suddenly remembered why it was so urgent that she had to leave. _Jaime_. Jaime was in danger. " _T-thank_ you." Brienne repeated for a third time. "Your kindness is rare-I mean-but I _have_ to leave-"

"- _No_." Maggie shook her head, a hand gently but firmly on her shoulder. "Beg pardon, m'lady, but you are staying here. Y'are our _guest_ now-that means something even to folk like us-and the gods would punish us if we let you back out into that snow, on that horse-to your death, most likely. I'll be damned if that happens. No-stay here. The gods sent you here for a reason."

Saebastyn was still hovering in the background, not knowing what to do. "It-it would be an honour, m'lady. Or-or is it Your Highness?" he added quickly, looking panicked again.

Brienne looked back up at the woman named Maggie, who looked so kindly down at her-who had so freely extended guest rights to a stranger-even if she thought she was a Lannister…well…she was _sort of_ a Lannister now. Jaime's face was still burned into her mind's eye-she was so scared for him it physically hurt her…but she knew she was too weak to ride. She knew every mile she rode put her baby in danger… "It doesn't have to be anything. _Thank you_." she whispered again. "I am in your debt."

Maggie gave another chuckle. It was such a warm, hearty sound. "You were right, Saeb! Lady Lannister is already speaking of debts!"

* * *

 _A Lannister always pays his debts_ …

The mole-soldier was fearful even to approach Ser Jaime. But to see a man so like a corpse was revolting, so stomach-churning and sickening. He could not bear to stand back and watch him die-for Ser Jaime's death would be on his hands. The soldier worked for Varys-he was a spy, not an executioner. He had not killed a man in his life-except on the battlefield. And to begin with a man so broken, so blank, so haunting…he could not bear it.

Getting to his feet, he slipped away from that night's fire, from the other Lannister men, towards the tree, to which Ser Jaime was bound. Beside it-Ser Gregor Clegane stood, guarding him. He was truly the most terrifying man that the soldier had ever seen. But now-he was not half as scary as Se Jaime. The kingslayer had chains and ropes around his waist and shoulders, around his arms and legs, his wrists and feet. It was very plain that the general was taking Jaime's threats of suicide very seriously. There was no way he could escape. This gave the soldier a lot more confidence than the kingslayer's face. It was empty.

The soldier looked down at him, pity almost breaking his heart. There was simply nothing there. He felt he was looking not at a man, but a corpse. He crouched down, right in front of Ser Jaime. The man did not react in the slightest to his presence. Carefully, he offered a hand to the kingslayer, holding out a hunk of bread and meat.

"Eat." he asked politely, his soldierly bark softened.

Nothing.

"Eat?" he asked again, with less confidence. Just looking at Ser Jaime filled him with guilt. He could not help but feel responsible. Lady Brienne was alive, their child was alive, he had helped her escape himself…and yet he could say nothing to her grieving husband. "Please?"

Suddenly, like a crocodile in water-Ser Jaime's head snapped up. His eyes were wild, as wild as the queen's, as wild as the lion on their banners. He looked at the soldier, eyes fixing on the mole on his face.

"You held her dress?"

The mole-soldier started slightly-Jaime's voice was like nothing he had heard in a human voice before. It rasped-it was low and yet deafening. Ser Jaime's face was still, as if he did not have the energy to move it-but his eyes were aflame.

"I-I did." he answered. "I'm-I'm so sor-"

"Were you the man who murdered her?"

Jaime's question hung in the air. It was so strange-his tone was almost casual, as if asking who had won a joust the previous month-and yet it was so full. So rasping. Unmistakeably a threat.

"N-no-"

"You _did_." Jaime looked straight into his eyes. "I see your guilt. You murdered her."

"No!"

"You won't answer for your actions?" Ser Jaime gave a humourless laugh. "You are a coward. Brienne of Tarth…murdered by a _coward_."

The mole-soldier could not fathom what to say. Ser Jaime's eyes burned into him, as if he had just been thrown onto a pyre, his flesh burning before his own eyes. It was madness-pure madness-brought on by grief and hopelessness, love and loss. The mole-soldier wanted to run straight to the other side of the camp-but knew he could not. He had to help.

"Eat." he tried again. "You must-"

"Why did you remove her dress?" Jaime asked, his tone becoming darker, even more of a threat. "What did you do to her? Did you _rape_ her?" The kingslayer was turning as white as the snow around him.

" _No_!" the mole-soldier protested desperately. "Of course n-"

"No, _tell me_." Jaime's whole body positively shook. "I need to hear _exactly_ what happened to my wife. I need to hear every detail." In a sudden burst of life, he tried to lunge forward-but his chains prevented him, instead giving a loud _clang_ against the wood of the tree.

The mole-soldier's blood froze. He found he could not move.

"You knew she was pregnant!" Jaime's voice trembled with something that was beyond rage, beyond grief. "You knew that in murdering her you also murdered my child! An _innocent child_!" His eyes were so bright with madness and tears that they were almost blinding, his voice rising to a scream. "If you have even a shred of decency in your _evil, cowardly_ soul, you will tell me _exactly what happened to Brienne_!"

Suddenly-the general's voice. "You finally got him talking, hey, Stefen?" From far off, the man got to his feet, his hair almost luminous in the firelight, and approached his prisoner. The mole-soldier, named Stefen, quickly scrambled to his feet and stepped back respectfully. The general crouched down before Ser Jaime, a smile on his face. "Now we have your mouth moving, why not take some food? You know your sister the Queen will not be pleased if all I have to deliver to her is a corpse?"

Jaime looked up at the general, still shaking-but now-he hissed: " _Fuck the Queen_."

The general laughed throatily. "Yes, we all know you have!" He chortled at his own joke, before turning back to Jaime. "Thought you'd be pleased to have the opportunity to do it again. Not like anyone could stop her now. The Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries-perhaps we will have another _royal wedding_ soon? I love a party, don't you, kingslayer?"

Jaime seemed beyond words. But again-with the last of his strength-he lunged.

The general snickered as his chains pulled him back against the tree. "Pathetic. Eat. Or I will make this very painful for you. The Queen insisted I do whatever I had to in order to get you back to her…I take that as free reign don't you?" He threw a piece of bread into Jaime's lap. "See you in the morning, kingslayer."

As he left…Jaime slackened his legs. The bread fell into the snowy mud beneath.

Taking this as his cue-Stefen made to go-

"Stop."

Jaime had whipped his head around to look at him. His eyes burned.

"Stefen…or whatever your name is…I swear, before the old gods and the new gods that neither one of us will reach Kings Landing. I swear that I will kill you. Wherever you go, however far you run, you will never be able to hide from me. I will find you. And when I do…I will kill you. I care not how many I have to cut down to get to you. I will kill a hundred men if I had to, a thousand, however many stood between you and I. And then…I will kill you…and I will kill you slowly. And I will relish every moment of it. I will do _this one thing_ for Brienne, though I could do nothing else for her…and then I swear I will kill myself. I broke my last oath to my wife, and the gods will punish me for every fucking vow I have forsaken-but I _will not_ break this oath. I _swear it_ that you will die by my hand, before I turn the blade on myself."

Stefen felt a chill pass through his very bones. He knew that he could say nothing, do nothing to put Ser Jaime out of his misery, lest he risk Brienne's safety from the Crown, and thereby compromise the North, where Cersei would launch another assault. He could not break his word to Lord Varys, fail his mission…it almost killed him to do it. He looked down at the kingslayer, a shadow of a man, chained to a tree.

"For your sake I hope that the heavens exist. I pray that you see her again."

With that-Stefen turned his back, unable to look at him a moment longer.


	35. Chapter 35

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* * *

"What news?"

"Confirmed."

Cersei looked up from her desk. Slowly, she put down her quill, laying it flat on the parchment before her. A droplet of ink fell from it, but she barely noted it. She fixed her eyes on Qyburn, who held a note in his hands. "Is that certain?"

"Yes, your grace." Qyburn nodded, giving her the note. There was a tone of satisfaction in his voice-and yet, he did not seem completely happy. Something was wrong, Cersei could sense it. She read over the note-but it was from her general, not Qyburn's spy.

"What happened to your boy?" she asked. "I am being informed in this note that the bitch was killed by a soldier."

Qyburn swallowed a little. "They hanged him, your grace." he said simply, sadness behind his eyes.

Cersei raised an eyebrow. "Stupid boy…." she tutted-but did not have time to worry about spies. They were so small she could not even see them. It was one less man to pay, she supposed. She felt as if a huge weight was lifting from her shoulders. Again, she read the note, making sure she understood it correctly. "And it is _certain_ that she is dead?"

"No doubt." Qyburn nodded, back to his professionalism-though he still seemed a little off. "Killed by one of your men, your grace. Stefen, I believe, is his name. Promising, by all accounts."

"Yes, it says Stefen here…" Cersei could not recall his face-but it did not matter who he was. It only mattered that the monstrous Tarth bitch had died, and her usurper offspring with her. The air felt a little clearer, the evening a little brighter. This Stefen had done his duty to her, and for that she would keep her word. "Make the arrangements to have him made a lord of his own house. Pay him all I promised-throw in your hanged boy's wages as well. Make sure that the men know that he who serves me well is handsomely rewarded."

"At once, your grace." Qyburn gave a bow.

"Are they travelling the head?" Cersei asked, as an afterthought.

"I believe not, your grace." Qyburn answered. "According to your general, there was no enough of her left to retrieve a recognisable head."

Cersei sniffed. "Pity…I should have liked to see the thing on the battlements…no matter." She picked up her quill again…then put it down. "Any news of my brother?"

"Ser Jaime will arrive at Kings Landing in about a week's time, your grace." Qyburn answered. "He is with your men. I am assured that his escape is impossible-Ser Gregor is ensuring that."

Cersei bit her lip. She turned from Qyburn, looking down to the ground. There was a most perculiar expression on her face. "No…I meant…how _is_ my brother?" she asked. Her voice was almost monotone-but it was suddenly thick. "How is Jaime?"

Qyburn paused. "They did not specify, your grace."

Cersei sighed heavily. She covered her face with her hands, fingers brushing her shorn hair. Jaime's face was scorched onto her mind, painfully burning and filling her head with smoke. It was intoxicating, and unbearably raw. In her darkest moments, she clung to him like a drowning man to a rock, as she always had done. Just the knowledge that he was alive, that she was not entirely alone in the world…he would have learned by now that they were supposed to be together. She, her brother, and no one else. She hoped that now, he understood. Cersei would burn every woman in the Seven Kingdoms if she had to, to keep him by her side, so that he understood that he could not leave her, that he was never supposed to leave her. They had come into the world together, and they would leave it together, no matter what happened in between. He was hers and she was his, from the day they were born to their last day.

"Have a suitable chamber prepared for him." she said, quietly. "Befitting his status as the brother of the queen."

"Of course, your grace."

"Now leave me." Cersei kept her voice strong-but she knew it would break soon, and had no desire to appear weak in front of her Hand.

"At once, your grace." With another bow, Qyburn left.

Cersei stared out of the window, onto the sea. It was rougher than usual, despite the fact that the weather was fine. Not warm, but fine. Automatically, her hand reached out for her wine goblet, her only comfort until Jaime returned to her. The Tarth bitch was dead. She could breathe a little easier for it. The throne was safe…for now. And Jaime…

It did not matter what had happened since. She knew that the moment they were reunited, everything would fall into place. She had been foolish to push him away when she needed him closest. Now, she would never let him go again. He completed her, and she him. He was hers and she was his, in every conceivable way. Cersei took a long drink as she looked out to sea. He was hers, and she was his. And that was not something that could ever be changed, by anyone or anything, man, woman, or god. Nothing could stop her now she was all of the pillars of the kingdom, controlling the crown, the faith…the Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries. She and Jaime had always told themselves that in their moments of doubt-but now there needed be no doubt ever again. Everything was hers to decide now. And Jaime would sit beside her as she ruled.

* * *

"Now, dear!" Maggie entered, a steaming bowl in her hands. She set it down in Brienne's lap. It was a beef stew, thin, watery-but it was food and it was hot. It smelled so wonderful…but she did not dare to touch it.

Maggie laughed. "Gods be good, y'have to be the most suspicious person I've ever seen!" But she nodded understandingly. "Don't worry, dear, I swear it ain't poisoned. You are my guest-and I don't fancy the life of a rat-chef." She reached over, patting Brienne's hand. "Drink. Y'need it."

Brienne hesitated…but her famishment got the better of her, and she lifted the bowl to her lips. It felt so amazing to drink something so hot, after freezing for so long. She remembered her last meal, the wedding at Winterfell…it felt like a lifetime ago. Now-nothing had ever tasted better than this. "Saeb used to say that no king could serve a finer stew than mine." Maggie was saying lightly. "Perhaps you can tell me now if he is right, m'lady!"

Brienne swallowed. "Praise well founded," she said, meaning it.

Maggie laughed hard again, that warm, throaty laugh filling the room. "Saeb's cows are good'uns. Loves them, he does-that's why the beef is so delicious. It's a wonder he doesn't have them in bed with us!"

Brienne smiled politely-but she could see that there was something else on her hostess's mind.

"Why would someone want to poison you, anyway?" Maggie asked, her eyes wide-but her voice was gently probing. "Hmm?"

Brienne said nothing. She gently rested the wooden bowl in her lap, atop the scarlet cloak. "Thank you."

Maggie would not be so easily pacified. She was a sharp woman, though her eyes were so doe-like. "What are you running away from, dear?" There was sympathy in her voice. "Can't imagine choosing the snow and ice over y'big castles and halls. It must be something really terrible."

Still-Brienne held her tongue.

"…Your husband?" Maggie asked tentatively.

She tried to stay dumb-but the word alone made Brienne's eyes fill with tears.

"Ah, now, dear, don't be crying!" Maggie sighed sympathetically, putting an arm around her and patting her hair in such a motherly way that it made Brienne's tears fall faster. "I'm sorry I asked. Shouldn't've. Terrible, I am. Never know when to shut up!"

Brienne wiped her cheeks furiously. "I don't know why I'm crying! I never used to…"

Maggie smiled knowingly. "It's mothers' brain. Really muddles you up-I was a mess every time. We all need a good cry sometimes. I remember with Robbert I couldnae look at a calf without bursting into tears. Every mother I cared for has suffered the same. Babies really put your head all out of jolt, it's nothing to be ashamed of." She put her head to one side. "Hasn't anyone told you that?"

Brienne shook her head.

Maggie looked surprised. "Don't they have men who know everything in the world in your castles? What d'you call them, now? Maesters? Who read all the books and know all about the world. Or your own mother? Dinnae she tell you anything?"

Brienne sniffed hard, trying hard to stop crying. "I never knew her." she managed.

"Oh, dear…" Maggie tutted sympathetically. "Well, if it's not too bold to say, it's a comfort to know that life isn't always perfect for highborns too! What about the rest of your family? Surely there must be _someone_?"

"My father…" Brienne murmured. "And…and my…my husband. It…it _is_ my husband." The word still felt so foreign in her mouth. "He is the reason I am running."

Maggie nodded understandingly, stroking her hair. "No women? You poor thing. Here I am in a house of lads-I'd have loved a daughter who'd lived…but it wasn't to be." She smiled bravely, shaking her head. "Why are you running from your husband?" she asked, gently. "Did he beat you?"

"No! Gods no!" Brienne shook her head, appalled even at the suggestion.

"Oh, sorry! Eh-meaning no offence, m'lady."

Brienne looked at her. "No…" She took a deep breath. "I am not running away from my husband. I am trying to _reach_ him. And that is why I can't stay here. I _have_ to find him."

Maggie looked shocked. "Why? Did he leave you? And in your condition? _Shameful_ -"

"No." Brienne pursed her lips. "He was…forced."

Maggie's sharp eyes narrowed a little. "Forced?"

"I'm sorry," Brienne straightened up. "Every moment I am in your home, you are all in danger. I am…" She took a deep breath. "I mean, someone…is trying to kill me."

She paused, waiting for the reaction-but Maggie did not start. Instead, she nodded. "I guessed."

"How?"

"Dear," Maggie took her hand. Brienne felt odd-she had not been this close to an older woman since Catelyn Stark, never been looked at in such a motherly way. A pang of grief for Lady Stark hit her terribly…but she concentrated on the woman before her. "I could think of no other reason why a woman who is perhaps two months from her time would ride for miles through this godsforsaken weather, if it was not to save the child."

Brienne swallowed hard. "So you understand. I can't stay here." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "The…the person…who wishes me dead thinks that their wish has been fulfilled. If they find that my child and I are alive…they will tear the Seven Kingdoms apart until they find me." She gritted her teeth. "If they found out you sheltered me…you would all die. You, your husband, your sons…all I seem to do now is put people in danger wherever I go. I refuse to risk that. That is why I-"

"-are my guest." Maggie finished firmly. "You are going nowhere."

"But-"

"Not until you are strong enough. And even then, I will not have you ride. Much too dangerous. You could fall, you could be kicked, you could- _anything_ could happen. I can see it in your eyes-" Maggie stroked her hair comfortingly. "You would do anything to protect that child. Any mother would. Let me help you."

Brienne knew she spoke the truth…but it was no use. "How else am I to reach White Harbor?"

Maggie's eyes brightened. "Is _that_ where you're headed, then, dear? To a ship?"

Brienne blushed. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Maggie rolled her eyes, giving a small laugh. "Nearly got it out of you." She whistled. "Must be one hell of a husband if you're going that far for him. Can he protect you? Is he very powerful? Is that why you're going to him?"

Brienne looked down at her lap. The thought of Jaime physically hurt her. "No. I must protect him."

Maggie coughed a little-then gave another smoky chuckle. "Eh? Gods, it gets more complicated by the turn, doesn't it? I don't know, all this business…So terrible for you to go through this, especially now. Look at you-y'can't be more than two months away…but I suppose y'must have y'highborn reasons, hey?"

Brienne felt guilty. She looked straight at her hostess. It was so harrowing that a simple cow farmer's wife, who did not even have doors in her house, could actually be pitying _her_. "I am sorry I am not being honest with you."

Maggie looked sad for a moment-but she smiled reassuringly. "Why not be, dear? Who am I going to tell, the cows? I'm not one of y'lords and ladies. I'm just me. Oh, dear…" She patted her hand. " _Why_ don't you tell me why you are running, my love? Or even your _name_?"

Brienne shook her head. It was difficult-but she could not. "I-I trusted someone I hardly knew before. And then I woke up with a knife inches from me." She closed her eyes at the memory. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend. But the less you know, the safer you are. The safer all of us are."

Maggie looked shocked, even pained. Her sharp eyes were beginning to calculate something…but she stopped. "Finish that." she said, tapping the bowl in Brienne's hands. "You need to get your strength up…" But still…she looked strange. "If you are running, whoever from and wherever to…what were you planning on doing when your time comes?"

Brienne blinked. "What do you mean?"

"When you give birth." Maggie looked more serious now. "What then?"

"I…" Brienne stopped. She frowned…as fear crept into her bones. "I…don't know…" she admitted.

Maggie pursed her lips, nodding. "I thought so. You're so concerned about keeping this child alive that the practicalities have gone right out of the window, haven't they, dear? It's not something you can get up and ride after, you know?"

"It…it's a bloody business…" Brienne said…it occurred to her that, apart from the physical aspect, this was all she knew about it. The thought of it…he thought of Jaime not being there…she didn't know if she could cope with such a thing without him…he was _supposed_ to be there…she _had_ to get to him. She _had_ to save him.

"Oh, my dear, you're white as a sheet!" Maggie laughed again, patting her hair. "Most natural thing in the world. But you can't do it alone. I pity any woman who has to-I simply cannot imagine it. There's all sorts can go wrong, you know? Believe me…" She was silent for a moment-before again bravely smiling. "But you know that."

Brienne felt more fear climbing up her spine.

" _Drink_." Maggie tapped the bowl again. "I can see you need all the help you can get."

* * *

Jaime stared straight ahead at the wooden wall before him, as the ship gently rocked him back and forth. He was chained to a post inside a cabin by the waist-but his arms were free now. Only his wrists were bound together. Perhaps they had decided that escape was improbable, or indeed impossible on the sea. He drifted in and out of consciousness, the room becoming periodically blotchy. Perhaps it was hunger, finally beginning to take him…or perhaps his body was shutting down from pure will power-the will not to live.

He knew that outside the window, too high for him to see, the wintery shores of the North would be disappearing. He pictured the landscape of Westeros slowly becoming greener as they sailed past the Vale, the Riverlands…and finally, horribly, the Crownlands. In just days, the skyline of Kings Landing would appear, the peak of the Red Keep, the sept… _no_. There was no sept now. Just a gaping hole, like a missing tooth, a permanent reminder that he had not saved them that time. Not the Tyrells, not the common people who lived around it, not even Uncle Kevan, cousin Lancel…he had not saved them from the flames. Always…that emerald liquid…those green flames…

He would not see it. He swore he would never see Kings Landing again, never see Cersei again. He had saved no one from her wildfire. He could not even save his wife and child from her blades…

Every time he closed his eyes...all he could see was her face. Her face...the way she was, looking at him the way she did when they were married, her astonishing eyes so blue, so strong, so _alive_...he could not accept that they were gone...One moment he found himself denying it, denying that it had ever happened...Brienne _had_ to be alive. She _always_ survived...but then the truth would hit, like a thousand blades, and he would lose himself again. A world without her was not a world he could bear to stay in. He had thought he was his right hand, and when he lost it, the world ended. But now he knew...Brienne was his right hand. He _was_ Brienne. He could not be without her. There was no way he could continue to live without her, for everything that made him who he was had died with her. Now...he just was. He did not feel alive. In his heart-he was dead already.

Jaime looked at Ser Gregor, who stood before him like a rock, a mountain. The red eyes stared down at him from beneath the helmet. Jaime wondered if he even slept…he looked down at his belt. He had one sword, one enormous blade, even bigger than Oathkeeper. The Mountain did not seem to feel the need to carry two swords-his fists were usually more than enough…but as Jaime looked closely at his belt...something else glinted. Something small, something sharp…something made of steel.

A dagger.

Jaime looked up again at the Mountain's face, the slit he could see, the grey skin and the red eyes…he wondered what was behind them. Whether there was any awareness, any thought of his own…other than following Cersei's orders.

He had to get that dagger. It shone gloriously. It was his salvation. He had to get it.

Jaime's brain whirred. But _how_ …he decided to try something. It would never work…but he was desperate enough to try anything.

"Ser Gregor?" Jaime looked straight at him, his voice a rasp. The mountain did not react…but he stared down at him. Jaime wasn't sure if he was listening, if he could even hear him…but he had to try. "Ser Gregor…I order you to give me your dagger."

He waited.

Nothing.

"Ser Gregor…as the brother of the queen… I order you to give me your dagger."

Nothing.

Jaime took a deep breath. "These are orders from _Cersei,_ _First_ of her Name, _Queen_ of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, _Lady_ of the Seven Kingdoms and _Protector_ of the _Realm_. _Do you understand_?" He fixed the Mountain with his most regal stare, something he had not used since his days in the Kingsguard. "She has sent you instructions, Ser Gregor. You will _give me your dagger_ or you _disobey_ your _queen_. _Do you understand_?"

Ser Gregor stared down at him.

Suddenly-he knelt.

Jaime could not believe it. Before Ser Gregor could move an inch-he shot out his bound wrists, taking the dagger in his hand. Instantly, with difficulty, he hid it in his clothes, ensuring that the sharp blade did not touch his skin. Yet.

He looked at the Mountain, struggling again to keep his voice official, confident, regal. "You have done your duty to your queen. Thank you, Ser Gregor."

Ser Gregor said nothing. But he rose, resuming his position, guarding Jaime, just as he had been instructed. Jaime could feel the coldness of the steel against him. It was good to have a blade again…suddenly-there was a clang of metal on wood. Jaime's eyes widened as he realised that the dagger had crashed against the wooden lion cub.

He thought of the torn dress…the blood…that the only touch his baby had known was a cold, sharp blade...the tears had begun to fall. It was strange to cry-it did not seem like crying was enough, anything like enough grief for his family, murdered by a coward who sailed with him on this ship. He would never hold his son in his arms, never hear him laugh, never watch him learning to walk, to swing a sword, to grow into a man…the anguish was unbearable. Once again, Jaime looked up to the ceiling through his tears, wondering if the Father was watching him, if He even cared. There was no justice. He had not prayed, for there was nothing more to pray for. If there was any justice, Jaime would have been taken instead, and his son spared. And Brienne…

Desperately, Jaime shoved the dagger under his clothes, away from the lion cub. His fingers found the little wooden head, rubbing his fingers across the tiny wooden ears...before falling once again into darkness.

* * *

Cersei stood watch, her empty goblet in her hand. It was foolish to stand here, gazing out of the window like a little girl. Jaime was days away…but somehow, she could not help it. Any moment in which she was not doing something else, she stared out of this window, waiting for Jaime. She remembered waiting for him after he had been taken prisoner by Robb Stark, scouring the skies for ravens with news of him, watching the streets and the waters in case, by some miracle, he had returned to her. She had lived in this hope every day…until, finally, she had stopped hoping. He had taken too long.

That beast had returned him then. It had been so insignificant at the time that Cersei had barely bothered to remember its name, its face. But she knew now. She knew exactly…but it did not matter anymore. It was dead. The child that was Jaime's but not Cersei's, the only thing they did not share, was dead. And Jaime was alive, and he was coming. It was not too late. It had never been too late. And he would never leave her again. She was his and he was hers. That was the way it was always supposed to be. From their first day…until their last.


	36. Chapter 36

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Please continue to do so, much love to all and I hope you are all well and happy.**

 **NOTICE: This is where I must apologise. I have been consistently posting almost every day since I begun this fanfic, but unfortunately the next update to this story will be on SATURDAY 13TH AUGUST-ONE WEEK FROM TODAY. I am so sorry, but I will not have internet access until that time. After that there will be daily updates once again until this is finished-and that time is drawing nearer...**

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* * *

"…so have y'thought of a name for him?"

Brienne smiled. She was sat upright on the mattress now, her strength well and truly returned to her, thanks to her hostess' care. The fire was so warm on her face-she was so grateful for it, even after a few days here, sat still on this mattress. Even the distinct smell of cows no longer bothered her. And there was only one answer to Maggie's question. "Renly."

" _Renly_?" Maggie blinked. "I haven't heard that one. It's…sweet."

"I used to…know…a man named Renly," Brienne explained. "He was the first man to show me kindness. He saved me from being a joke…from the day I met him, until his last day." She looked down, thinking of the young king… "Renly was a good man. I would be honoured to give my son his name."

Maggie did not look as though she quite understood-but she smiled. "Lovely, dear. My Robbert is named for me father, and my Addam for Saeb's. Not quite so grand, I don't think! Still, they're good, strong names…" Maggie paused-then decided to try her luck. "You wouldn't name him for your father?"

Brienne felt a pang as she thought of Selwyn. She prayed that Varys had told him that she was still alive, for she worried the shock of losing her, his only child, would kill him. "No…" she murmured.

"And not for…your husband's father?"

Burning agony hit as she thought of Jaime. He would probably be on a ship by now, sailing to Kings Landing and Cersei…at least he would be safe with her. _If_ he reached her. At night, Brienne could do nothing but hope to every god there was that he was too well-guarded to let his certain dark thoughts overwhelm him, or make him do something stupid…or perhaps someone at Winterfell had told him that she was alive... " _No_." Brienne answered, with more conviction. "It would be a terrible idea. It couldn't be."

Again, Maggie raised her eyebrows in shock. "Eh! Everything is so complicated for yous lot, even naming your baby! I suppose that's why you highborns need all them big books to write y'stories in-you'd just forget who y'were, otherwise!"

Brienne started suddenly. Slight panic begun to set in. "You-you haven't read much of history, have you?" she asked nervously.

"Not one word. Can't read words." said Maggie lightly.

Instantly, Brienne was mortified. "Oh! I mean-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, don't worry about it. Wasn't taught, is all." But she was looking interested. "Can you? And write letters too?"

"Yes?"

Suddenly, Maggie's eyes lit up. She stood up, and hurried over to the fire, grabbing a brush and sweeping the cinders from beneath it. She spread them out on the floor before the fire until they formed a thin, grey, ashy coating on the ground. Then, she turned to the pile of wood kindling beside the firee, pulling out a sturdy twig. She turned back to Brienne. "D'you think you could write my name for me? I've never seen it written down before."

Carefully, Brienne slid from the mattress onto the floor. It was so warm in front of the fire. Only too happy to oblige the woman who had taken her in and saved her life, Brienne took the twig from her and traced "Maggie" into the ashes. Maggie herself watched in amazement as her name appeared on the floor.

"Eh! I like the twisty bit in the middle," she said, running over the letters with her finger. "It's very pretty, isn't it? I always liked the way the words look. I wish I knew what they meant, so I could read the _Seven-Pointed Star_. I always wanted to read the _Seven-Pointed Star_. All about the gods."

Brienne felt strange as she looked at Maggie, now sat beside her. She was a reasonably tall woman herself, her hair so wild. It seemed so wrong that such a woman could not read the holy book simply because of the position she had been born into.

"And those stories about the _dragons._ " Maggie added, with a small, but excited smile. Suddenly-it was as if her whole face was illuminated. "My father used to tell me stories-from his head, of course. I loved them-wish I could remember a single thing about them! There were…" Maggie frowned, trying hard to remember. "… _three_. Three dragons, and men used to ride them, like horses! Can y'believe that? And then they conquered the land with them…"

Brienne smiled. "Two of them were women. Aegon Targaryen, and his sisters Visenya and Rhaenys."

Maggie's eyes widened in wonder. " _Women_? Riding dragons? _No_ …"

"Women," Brienne felt proud. "Visenya Targaryen was a great warrior."

Maggie looked more shocked than ever. "Well, I _never_ heard of that!" But she had begun to grin excitedly. "Gods be good, I suppose she was quite something…then again, I suppose if men can ride dragons, why shouldn't women?" She thought hard. "I suppose it's them's skirts. I cannae imagine what they'd do with them's skirts."

Brienne laughed, enjoying Maggie's utter shock. "They managed, I'm sure!"

Maggie was still gazing in awe. "Gods be good…" she said again, shaking her head. " _Women_ riding dragons…and to think I haven't even rode a horse! Well…" She looked down, a little sadly now, though she still smiled. "All the dragons are gone now…and the women you say rode them with them, I s'pose…"

Brienne felt a little strange. She knew she shoudn't. But she could not resist. "They're...not gone."

Maggie stopped dead-then burst out laughing. "Now, you _do_ say these funny things!"

"They're not gone," Brienne repeated, remembering Lord Tyrion's stories of the women, not from three hundred years ago, but right now, alive today, who had brought the dragons back from the dead and could fly on them, could ride them like Visenya Targaryen had. The Queen Daenerys, the queen who had saved her child from the throne, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons…

She began to tell the story. By the time she had finished-Maggie looked as if she was in shock. She leaned back, breathing hard. " _Dragons_? _Real dragons_? And a _woman_ who rides them? This is true?"

"It's true," said Brienne, forgetting her fear in her pride. "She is coming. And with her dragons, she is going to depose the queen and take the throne that is rightfully hers."

Maggie breathed out hard. There were stars in her eyes. "Well, I never…" she murmured…But then, suddenly, sharp as ever-she frowned as a seperate thought hit her. "But…the Queen-Queen Cersei-is of House Lannister, isn't she?"

"Yes?" Brienne said vaguely, still thinking about the dragon queen.

"If the queen is of House Lannister…and _you_ are of House Lannister…why would you want her gone?" Maggie asked suspiciously. "I mean…if there is someone out there who wants you dead, surely if the queen is your family, she can protect you better than anyone?"

Brienne could have kicked herself for her clumsiness. "I'm sorry, I-"

But Maggie's brain was whirring under that wild dark hair. She may not be able to read, or write, or know history and the secrets of the world-but she was as far from stupid as it was possible to be. "It's the queen what wants you dead, isn't it?"

Brienne felt horror rising inside her. She began to panic. "That-that's why I can't stay here. That's why you're in so much danger. The longer I am here, the more you know about me, the more danger you and your-"

But Maggie was looking up at Oathkeeper, her head tilted to one side. She looked again at Brienne, now out from under her cloak, dressed in her man's clothes, her boots, her short hair. Again-she looked at the sword. "You're one of them women warriors, aren't you?"

"Well, I-"

"Why are you running from the queen?" Maggie asked, her eyes sharp. "And if you are-why are you going South? _Towards_ her?"

"I-I couldn't stay at Winterfell-I have to reach J-"

"You came from _Winterfell_?"

It was enough. Brienne gave up. She looked into the eyes of her hostess, so kind and yet so sharp. So innocent, so unknowing of things…she sighed. Slowly, she took the stick again…and traced her name into the dust.

* * *

Jaime looked up at the man who was guarding the door to his cabin. "I am going to vomit."

The guard looked down at him in surprise that he even spoke. He glanced at Ser Gregor, who stood beside Jaime like the mountain he was named for. "Er…"

"Take me onto the deck." said Jaime. "I am going to vomit and I don't want to do it here."

The guard looked nervously around, unsure what to do. He was not young-but clearly, he was scared absolutely shitless of Ser Gregor. For his entire watch, he had refused to step any nearer to Jaime than he was at that moment. Jaime swore he had seen his lips moving in prayer as he looked in horror at the Mountain. "My lord-" he begun nervously.

"I am no lord," said Jaime, before turning, guiltless, to the enormous man at his side. "Ser Gregor, this man is disobeying the orders of her grace Queen Cersei. Kindly help him see that her word is the law."

"No!" the guard shouted, losing all his cool as Ser Gregor took a thundering step towards him. " _No_!"

"Take me to the deck so I can-oh, _gods_ …" Jaime murmured, rolling his eyes as the Mountain grabbed the screaming guard by the throat, lifted him up and smashed his head against the wall. There was a sickening _crack_ -then Ser Gregor dropped the body, leaving a stain on the wood as if a gigantic strawberry had been thrown there, small gobbets of flesh seeping down onto the floor where the guard lay, his head now half gone. Jaime gritted his teeth-he had not meant for that to happen. But the Mountain had turned back to him, walking away from the man as if he had simply swatted a fly, resuming his position of guard.

"Erm…right." Jaime shook his head slightly. But he had to move on. "Ser Gregor." His voice was strong and secure. "Her Grace Queen Cersei, First of her Name, commands you to take me up onto the deck. If you do not do this, you disobey your queen. Do you understand?"

Instantly, as if a flame had been lit, the Mountain smashed through the chains binding Jaime to the post with one hand. Leaving only those binding his wrists, and taking the other end in hand, like a dog on a rope, he yanked Jaime forth. There was nothing that could stop him once he had been given an order. As he roughly pulled Jaime up the stairs onto deck, the air became freezing. As the wind hit his face like an icy dagger, Jaime felt inside his shirt for the real dagger. There it was. It was ready.

The deck was crowded with men, working to sail the ship, pissing over the side or simply watching the grey sky, the rough waves. But Ser Gregor was too big a presence to ignore. Every man turned to look as he appeared.

"The Kingslayer!"

There was some movement towards him-but the Mountain alone put many of them off. Trying to look as casual as he could, Jaime turned from all of them. Wrists bound, he grabbed the side of the ship in front of him and leaned over, as if about to vomit. Instantly-each man turned away, going back to their business. None of them liked to watch a grieving man loose his dignity. But as he did so-he murmured to Ser Gregor. "Her Grace Queen Cersei has new orders for you, Ser Gregor. You are to imform me, in any way you can, if you see a man with a mole on his face. This is the will of her majesty. Do you understand?"

Ser Gregor merely glared. But Jaime knew he would do as bound and nothing more.

* * *

"…so lemme get this _straight_. You are married to the queen's brother-who thinks you're dead-and _she_ wants you dead because your child has a claim to the throne, but that doesn't matter anymore because of the dragon queen who no one has seen yet except the imp lord-and she _also_ wants you dead because you're married to her _brother_ -who _she_ is in love with?" Maggie's eyes were the size of planets. She sounded quite breathless.

"Yes." It sounded so much worse laid out like that… "That's pretty much it."

Maggie looked as if she had just been hit over the head with a hammer. She blew hard through her teeth. " _Well_ …"

Brienne had been terrified to tell the truth. But Maggie needed to understand. "Do you see now, why I can't stay here? Everywhere I go I bring danger with me. If Cersei knows I am still alive, she will-"

" _Kings Landing_?" Maggie suddenly had a faraway look in her eyes. She looked out of the window. "Gods…they say the sun never stops shining, and the buildings reach the clouds, and the streets are paved with gold…"

" _Do_ they?" Brienne blinked doubtfully.

But Maggie wasn't listening. Suddenly-there was a kind of fire in her cool grey eyes. " _Dragons_ …" She looked down at Brienne. "And you need to go to Kings Landing to save your husband? Where the dragon queen will come?"

"Well, yes, I-"

"Then we're going."

Brienne stopped dead.

Fear began to grow. "…What do you mean?"

"You can't go alone." said Maggie firmly-but still, her eyes were filled with stars. "I have never been further south than Whiteharbor. I've never been on a ship, never rode a horse, never even learned to read-and now, you tell me that women can be warriors, can be queens, can ride _dragons_ , and y'cannae expect me to stay here and carry on babysitting my husband, looking at bloody cows and embalming our dead neighbours? The most exciting thing that happens here is finding a corpse in the yard!"

Brienne was shaking her head. "No. _No_. It's far too dangerous. Your family-"

"-can manage without me for a few months. If women can wield swords, then it stands to reason that men can manage a house-if women are capable of anything they want, then so are men, isn't that right? And I _want_ this. I haven't done a thing for myself in forty-seven years, and I want to see a little more of the world before I die. My boys are grown-yours is not even born. You are a guest in my house and I will not desert you. I know the laws of the gods-"

"Maggie, _please_ -"

"My daughters all died in the cradle. I will not desert someone else's." said Maggie. She took Brienne's hands. "When your baby is born, you can send me back here using some of that famous Lannister gold-it would only be a couple of weeks. Gods, a couple of _weeks_ away from here!-"

" _Maggie_." Brienne felt almost like crying. She had never known such kindness, such bravery for an almost stranger's sake-it was overwhelming to think that there was still such good in the world. "I don't think you've thought this through-"

"I want to see the dragons." said Maggie, her voice aflame. "We'll travel by cart to Whiteharbor tomorrow." Suddenly-she beamed excitedly. "I want to see Kings Landing. I want feel the sun on my face rather than the snow. And I want to see a woman queen ride a real _dragon_."

* * *

The sea spray was overwhelming. Jaime was getting soaked through by freezing water, his hands numb on the side of the ship. But he stood fast. He felt everything so much more intensely now he knew that his final hour was upon him. He felt every icy breath in his lungs, every beat of his heart struggling to keep his body warm, every inch of his skin as it shivered. But strangely…he felt incredibly calm. He was ready. He was ready to go.

Finally-Ser Gregor gave a sharp tug on the chain.

It could only mean one thing.

Jaime took a deep breath. He tasted every one now, savouring the salt air. One last time, he felt for the dagger inside his shirt. There it was. Now…he turned around.

Stefen was stood no more than ten feet away. He was alone.

It was perfect. It was meant to be. Jaime knew he was marked to die in this moment.

Jaime did not need to bother Ser Gregor. He simply walked up to the man-who started as he saw him.

"S-Ser Jaime?" Stefen instantly looked nervous. He eyed Jaime warily, as if he was a dangerous dog, taking a step backwards. Not far enough.

"Stefen." said Jaime. He kept his voice calm, his hands in front of him, clearly showing his chains so that the man would suspect nothing.

"…How are…I mean…I _don't_ mean how are you." stammered Stefen. "What a stupid question. My apologies-"

"Oh, don't worry about that." said Jaime, his voice still soft, controlled-though he feel other men beginning to stare. They didn't matter. No one living mattered any more. "I…I just wanted to ask you…while I'm here, and you're here…how exactly did Brienne die?"

Stefen had clearly been expecting this. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He had begun to turn pale. "S-Ser Jaime…" he mumbled, looking down at the floor, his feet longing to walk away as fast as possible…but he stood his ground. Very aware of all of the men around them, he looked straight into Jaime's eyes. "I swear on the Mother that she did not suffer long…I swear it…"

"That is not what I asked you." Jaime said, his voice becoming dangerously civil. But suddenly…he realised he was playing this all wrong. He looked at Stefen. They were the same height. Though the mole distracted from the rest of his face, since it was so large and dark…Jaime could see that his eyes were kind.

Jaime looked away from him, down to the ground. "I'm sorry," he said, making his voice thick-it came easily now. "I just…I just…I need to know." He sniffed, as if fighting back tears. "Just-just let me stop imagining it. _Please."_

Jaime could already tell that Stefen had weakened. His body had relaxed-and he took a step back towards Jaime, as if longing to comfort him. "I swear to you that she did not suffer." he repeated. "It was clean…it was dignified…despite what…the dress looked like. It had to be that way."

Jaime felt real tears beginning to well behind his eyes now. He looked back at Stefen, who seemed as if he himself was grieving. "I'm sorry," Stefen said. "I am so, _so_ sorry. I-I'm just a soldier. I-I can't imagine…I mean…I don't know what I mean."

Jaime nodded once. He continued to stare Stefen directly in the eyes. "I…I understand. You…you were just doing your job…I'm sorry I threatened you…I have never known anything as strong as this love and grief. I pray you never do." Slowly…Jaime extended his stump hand, swallowing hand. "Shall we forgive one another as men?"

Stefen looked down at the hand, unsure…but…his conscience got the better of him. He took it-

But before he could even grip it properly-Jaime knocked the dagger down his sleeve into his other hand and rammed it directly into Stefen's breast.

Stefen could not even scream. His eyes bulged, his mouth fell open as the blood began to pool beneath his tunic…he looked like every other dying man Jaime had ever seen. But this death by his hand felt differently…it was a release…as if a bird who had been cadged his whole life had suddenly been let out, to fly freely into the air, towards the sun…

Jaime could not hear the shouts of panic around him as the men realised what had happened. He barely felt the dagger leave Stefen's body in another splurge of blood, finally killing the man who had killed Jaime's family, who fell down onto the deck with a soft thump, a crumpled, bloody mess…he did not see the rest of the men suddenly rushing towards him…it was as if he had been plunged underwater…everything was drowned out…everything was moving in slow motion…everything was slowly fading away.

It was such a natural movement to turn the blade of the dagger to himself. Even more natural to push it.

As Jaime fell to the deck of the ship, as the feet stamped around him, deafeningly silent, feeling a distant physical agony from somewhere far away that did not matter, feeling the blood leave a body that no longer belonged to him…he could only see one face. Only one face in his mind, one name on his lips, his final thoughts, the astonishing blue eyes, the yellow hair, the pale skin, the incredible contradiction of the bravest woman in Westeros…before everything was gone.

* * *

Lady Sansa looked out at the blanket of snow that covered as far as the eye could see. She liked to stand on these battlements and look out, reminding herself that a world existed outside Winterfell, that life still went on, that somewhere, someone was happy.

Podrick stood beside her. He stood, as upright and dutiful as ever…but his eyes were almost always rimmed with red now. She looked at him, giving a small smile, which he returned, silently acknowledging the grief they shared. Then, Sansa turned back to the horizon, wondering where children played, where lovers kissed, where goodness was.

"My lady,"

A voice from below. Sansa looked down to see Lord Tyrion stood by her side. It was strange-she had been almost frightened of him as a child, especially upon being forced to marry him. And now…his was one of the most comforting presences in her life. Whenever she looked at him-she thought of the future, of the queen he had promised, of everything that could still happen in her life, even if one chapter had firmly snapped shut.

"Lord Tyrion." she greeted him.

Tyrion smiled sadly. "I think the time for formalities has long since passed." He looked up at the sky. "More snow later, I think."

"There is always more snow." said Sansa, her voice low. "Winter is here."

Tyrion was silent for a few moments.

Sansa looked back out. It was getting more difficult to see the mountains now, in the permanent snowy haze. She squinted, looking out as far as she could. She wished more than anything that she could become a bird, that she could fly, that she could just fly straight off this wall, and not land as she had with Theon, but carry on flying, on and on, until she reached…

That was it. She had always dreamed of flying back to Winterfell. But Winterfell as it had been, with her father, mother, Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon…not as it was.

But it was impossible to turn back time. Though the stones were constant, as constant as they had been when Bran the Builder had laid them, Winterfell felt entirely swept up and rebuilt, from its very foundations. And the new face did not suit her. She longed for a time that had been long buried under the snow.

Suddenly…something.

Sansa was jerked abruptly out of her thoughts. She blinked, looking all around-but she could see nothing.

Nothing that could have made a sound such as that.

But then… _what_ sound was that?

It was like nothing she had ever heard before. Perhaps it was her imagination…

But then- _again_.

The sound seemed to echo, echo from the very heart of the earth up to the canopy of the sky, from the heavens to the hells. It seemed almost as if it was not meant for this world-as if it could not be contained in the tiny constraints of human understanding.

"What was that?" she found herself saying aloud.

Tyrion turned to her, his face unreadable. But his eyes were aflame.

"Tell me, Sansa…have you ever heard a dragon singing?"


	37. Chapter 37

**Hello! Thank you so much for staying with me! Missed you all, but now I'm back! Hope you're all well and happy :) This chapter is not as long as I was hoping, as I didn't have enough time to get the whole thing to an alright standard, so enjoy part one! More tomorrow, much love xxx**

* * *

Cersei stood above the harbour, watching as the small boat, canopied and adorned with ribbons and banners, row steadily towards the shore. A slight breeze blew through her hair-colder even than yesterday, when she had remarked on the chill in the air. The sky was almost pure white with cloud, the waters rougher than usual. But it did not matter. In the distance, the ship she had sent to collect Jaime from Winterfell. He was not on board anymore, though. Finally, at long last, he was being ferried to her. She could not yet pick out his golden head on board the boat, but he was there. She knew he was there, so close, and she could not help but feel immensely satisfied. She had set out to get her brother back, and here he was. Where he belonged.

The boat was moving too slowly. Cersei was impatient. She had not entirely decided what she would do when he finally stood before her, whether to instantly welcome him back with open arms, whether to treat him coldly but eventually thaw, whether to distance herself entirely from him or to berate him as soon as it was possible for all that he had done. Though she had made up her mind to forgive him…there was no harm in his lesson being hammered home a little more, just in case the deaths of that beast and her bastard spawn had not quite sufficed. She had a feeling they had done-Jaime would know now where he belonged, and where he would now stay, forever. Still…perhaps it would not hurt to drive her severity home a little more.

It would be strange to see Jaime again, knowing what had come to pass. She hoped he would understand why what had happened was necessary, and did not resent her-and even if he did, it was not like he would have a choice. She was Queen. And he would stay with her if she commanded it. She thought of his green eyes, a mirror of hers, warming as he aged while hers became hard and cold. She had laid with no one for months-it had not seemed like something she would ever desire again. She had always used Lancel when Jaime was not around-of course, he was dead now. But perhaps sex would relax her, bring her and Jaime closer if it was strange between them at first. She knew the greatest weapon she had was between her legs, and she would use it to win back her brother firmly to her side. She wondered vaguely if she could lie with him, knowing who else he had been with now. Perhaps a bath first. The thought of making love to Jaime as before was almost intoxicating. Maybe she would feel something again soon.

Cersei squinted now. She could see the unmistakeable head of Ser Gregor Clegane, huge and helmeted, as was his custom now. Jaime must be beside him. The barest hint of a smile crossed her face-she had never doubted Ser Gregor. She trusted him as far as she trusted Qyburn, whom she trusted perhaps more than anyone else. Though there was no one in the Seven Kingdoms she would trust completely. Not even Jaime.

But he was back now. He was coming back to her and that was the important thing.

Cersei waited. And waited.

The boat was getting close now. She had begun to be able to pick out faces inside it. Stood at the bow-her general, the general she had placed in charge of the whole operation. His blonde hair glinted in the sunlight, his hand shielding his face from its rays. He was looking up at her, his face gravely serious, as she expected from her men. He wore his full armour-but his helmet was clutched beneath his arm.

Cersei frowned. She took a few steps forward, hoping that even a few feet closer would help her to see. She still could not see Jaime. There was never any mistaking his golden hair, his handsome face-she could pick him out in a crowd of thousands. But she could not see him on this little boat.

As the boat drew ever nearer…she realised that everyone on the boat was stood or sat off to the sides…and in the centre…there was a kind of table.

And on the table…

Cersei had seen enough bodies to know a dead man when she saw one. The body was covered in a gold and scarlet cloth, from the feet to the head, he was covered. Even his face was shrouded from view. It rocked sickeningly on the boat as they began to pull into the harbour. There was no mistaking that this little boat carried a dead man, a dead man from the ship, a dead man who had been to Winterfell and had not come back alive.

Still…there was no golden head. Cersei could not see her brother. But she could see the dead man beneath the shroud.

* * *

"…missing the boys, o'course. But it'll nae be long before I'll see them again, eh?" Maggie smiled bravely, taking a long drink of ale. She pulled her cloak tighter around her, along with her shawl, for they were a distance away from the fireplace at the tavern. It was not far now to Whiteharbour-perhaps another day's journey to the ships. They had found a table hidden at the back, shielded by a small wall. It was almost deserted-a few men drinking, a young girl pouring ale. No music, but the hum of conversation from the other end was enough to make Brienne feel secure in her anonymity. Jaime's scarlet cloak was draped securely around her, the tell-tale fur hidden from view. Both women were exhausted-but each one put on a brave face, for the benefit of the other. Maggie's easy attitude made it seem simple-but Brienne could not help but feel guilty.

"It must be difficult." she murmured, hardly above a whisper. Despite the quietness of the tavern, she would take no chances. Besides-she was almost too exhausted to speak. It was strange to feel so worn after a comparatively short journey such as this, compared to those she had made in the past. She had travelled the length of Westeros searching for Lady Sansa and her sister, Arya, and had felt better than she did now. She was drained beyond belief. It was the child, she knew. The more she showed, the harder everything became. Everything was increasingly difficult as he grew, but more than ever now she felt the effects. Every part of her seemed to ache, especially her back. She felt delicate, something she was far from used to.

"Yes, m'lady," Maggie admitted. She took another swig of ale, clearly a woman accustomed to pouring and drinking the stuff. "But it ain't forever. Like this travelling business ain't forever."

"There is no need to call me your lady, I have told you." Brienne managed a weak smile. "I owe you far too much. And…your husband?" she asked, by way of conversation.

Maggie paused-before nodding, pursing her lips. "Him too, sure." She did not meet Brienne's eye. There was certainly not as much enthusiasm in missing Saebastyn than her sons, whom she keenly pined for. But again-she smiled bravely. "Saeb- _and_ his cows. Some things must be forever, eh?"

"Some things…"

"Well, Saeb's just a man. Not like y' _lord_."

"My husband is as much a man as any." Brienne felt a stabbing pain as she thought of Jaime. But, like Maggie, she was brave. "He breathes the air, and he is flesh and blood, exactly the same as Saebastyn."

Maggie gave a teasing smile, her grey eyes glinting in spite of her tiredness. "I suppose he's very handsome, though, eh? _All_ high lords are handsome."

Brienne had to smile back in spite of herself. "I suppose he is." She looked down at her lap. It wasn't quite true-she did not merely _suppose_ that Jaime was handsome. He was so beautiful that sometimes he did not seem to be real, and even when she reached out to touch him and knew that he was, she could scarcely believe that he was hers. But then the way he looked at her, as if she was not merely a mulish, awkward giant of a woman, but someone special. It did not matter then what he looked like-he could be as ugly as she was and it would make no difference because he was just Jaime. She had never thought she would experience anything like this, let alone marry the man she loved, carry his child. Brienne loved Jaime so much, seemed to love him more by the moment-she could hardly bear to be so far and so horribly parted from him.

Maggie was laughing, her eyes shining. "Wish I still had that look on me face when I thought of Saeb, eh, m'lady?…It's a wonderful feeling to be new married. Make it last as long as you can-though I suppose it's a bit harder when y'lord is far away. Still…you'll see him again before long, I'm sure of it. Jus' like I'll see Robbert and Addam."

Brienne looked straight at her companion. " _Thank you_ for all of this. It must be so difficult for you."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Well, all of the sleeping under trees and rocks and travelling all day is no luxury-I cannae wait to sleep in a bed tonight! But it is lovely to be in this tavern-y'know, I haven't had a meal cooked for me for _years_." She smiled down at her empty plate. "I'd forgotten how nice it was. So y'know-it ain't all bad. And it'll all be worth it to see the capital, eh?"

Brienne never ceased to be amazed by Maggie's attitude. The way she could find a bright light in any situation. What a woman she could have been, had she been born to a lady. It seemed so wrong, some cruel joke of the gods. "Yes, it will be so good to sleep in a bed again." she agreed. "I can't seem to fall asleep these days…"

"-Though I'm not sure just sleeping rough is to blame for that." Maggie nodded significantly, gesturing under the table. Brienne sighed a little, her hands wrapped around her belly. It was so good just to sit in a chair-her back ached so…

"You're right-it is far more difficult to sleep-though I am so tired all the time that it ought to be easy. But that's not what keeps me awake. Every day I think of new things that could hurt him. Even without Cersei. There is so much danger in the world, so much that could happen to him…I lie awake all night thinking about everything that hasn't happened to him, which is ridiculous, but _could_ happen to him, and if it did…"

Maggie gave a knowing smile. "Welcome to being a mother."

Brienne gave a humourless laugh. She looked down, away from her companion. "Strange… _mother_. It is not a word I can become accustomed to."

"Y'will when your child says it." Maggie's smile had softened. "There's nae like the first time you'll hear him call y'that."

Brienne clutched her hands tighter. The thought of it…she felt as if something had dropped straight from the heavens into her hands. She knew in her heart that Maggie was right-but visualising her child as a physical being, warm flesh and blood, in her arms, in Jaime's arms…it was more that she could bear. However exhausted she was, however she ached, however she fretted…it was more than worth it. She felt her heart swell with love-then a pang that Jaime was not here to share these moments with her…She wished she could tell him every last thing again, in the warmth of his arms beneath their furs at Winterfell, feeling his steady breathing, the beat of his heart against hers…but she would reach him soon. Whatever it took, she would find him.

* * *

Jaime lay, stretched out on a table covered by a white cloth. A further cloth had been tactfully draped over his chest to hide the chasm left by his final stab wound. Otherwise, he was exactly as he had been. His clothes dirty, his face white, blood and filth beneath his nails. His hair was made wild by sea breeze, his boots covered in mud. His eyes were shut-though he did not look peaceful. There was something incredibly unsettling in his blank expression. There were purple circles beneath his eyes, tinged red, as if he had died in tears.

Cersei looked down at her brother. She just sat beside Jaime's body, watching him. She had not permitted anyone to clean him, so the mud still caked his boots, hid under his nails. There was some dirt on his cheek, otherwise his face was still his own, his skin still golden. He looked so entirely perfect, as if he was simply asleep. Anyone might have been fooled. But there was a certain stillness that only death brought.

No tears downed the queen's cheeks. Cersei looked at her twin brother as though her own arm lay lifeless on the table, her own leg, half her head, half her heart, half her entire self. His good hand lay above the sheet that covered his chest, his stump hand beneath it. Cersei had moved the sheet herself to hide the lost hand. With only his whole hand in sight, Jaime looked so perfect, so golden, so complete…

Someone was coming from behind. A servant girl, tasked in the absence of Silent Sisters to prepare Jaime Lannister for his funeral and burial. Her hair was beginning to grey, though she did not look old enough. Perhaps it was the stress of having to approach the Queen, who had been stood, staring down at her brother, for the last hour.

The girl swallowed her nerves, slowly moving towards the body that had held Ser Jaime. He was as handsome in death as he had been in life, so beautiful it ached to look at him, the lines on his face only barely a reminder that he was not still a young man, fresh and wild-but still, cut down before his time. But the girl numbed herself, reaching down into the basket she carried. Carefully, she pulled out two stones. Bright green eyes had hurriedly been painted upon them. She held them in her hands for a moment, letting her skin warm them, for she could not bear to put cold stones on even a dead man who knew no difference. Finally…she took one in each hand, and-

" _Take those things away from him, or I swear I will have your head_."

As if she had been burned-the servant girl retracted her hand. She looked up at the queen, who had not taken her eyes off of her brother.

"I-I'm sorry, your grace-"

" _Get out_."

The girl did not need telling twice.

Cersei looked down at her brother.


	38. Chapter 38

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, favourite-ing, following and reviewing! Means the world, guys, more tomorrow! Much love xxx**

* * *

Whiteharbor was as Brienne had expected. Not as dirty as the capital, smaller and far colder, ice floating in the dark blue waters of the sea, but the bustle of the city port was welcome, even with the distinct smells of fish and burning. The smell of the fish from the market made her nauseous, thought it never had before. She felt far more safe in a crowd-she and Maggie could just pass through, leading the chestnut horse and battered cart. Nonetheless, she kept the hood of Jaime's cloak pulled firmly over her head to disguise her face in shadow, the fur hidden. Most around her had done the same against the cold, so no one gave her a second glance.

It was a great relief to reach the ports, from which ships departed south. It would have even been a cause for celebration, were it their final destination. But Brienne felt only nerves when she looked out onto the sea, navy and rough in the freezing winds. Turning to Maggie, she passed her the purse, so that she could purchase their passage, as a far less recognisable face. Now she was in a major city, even the smallest of the major cities, she would take no chances.

"Are you sure you still want to do this?"

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Try and stop me now."

Brienne gave a weak smile. "I had to ask. Meet me over there when you're done. _Thank you_."

Maggie gently squeezed her hand, then hurried off. Brienne watched as her frizzy dark head disappeared into the crowd-before taking her horse by the reins and leading her into the alley. It was dark, deserted and sheltered-but still, she slipped her other hand around the hilt of Oathkeeper. She leaned against the cold stone wall, taking several deep breaths, her hand around her belly-it was getting more and more difficult to live and travel the way she was, the way she always had. She was certainly not as fast any more, not as tough, not as agile…she wished that pregnancy made one better rather than worse-surely it was the time when women ought to be at their strongest rather than their weakest.

Still, she leaned close against the wall, Jaime's cloak casting her face in shadow. She tried not to be too concerned-anyone who would have recognised her from House Manderly was at Winterfell, serving Jon Snow. But still-whenever people passed by the alley, not a single one troubling to look inside, she held her breath. Maggie was a constant reminder that people lived their entire lives without knowing hardly a thing of Westerosi politics-she had to remember that most of these people would neither know nor care who she was, least of all that she had been wanted by the crown, or that she was supposed to be dead. They were just people-nothing more or less than that. There was nothing wrong with exercising caution, though. She would not become reckless.

She could see a fraction of water outside-the sea, which would lead her past the Sisters, the Vale, the Crownlands to Kings Landing-the very place which held everyone who wanted her baby dead. But now Jaime was there. His ship would surely be there by now. She wondered if he had been reunited with his sister yet. She prayed that Cersei would not hurt him, though she did not suppose she would-there must still be some love between them. How _much_ love…that was what worried her. She trusted Jaime wholeheartedly-but Cersei may make it very difficult for him. Brienne still did not know how they were going to get him out of the Red Keep, as surely Cersei would ensure that escape would be hard. But she would cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, she concentrated on going South to Jaime and nothing more. She wrapped the cloak tighter around herself, Jaime's cloak warming her while he was not. She felt as if he was with her when she held it. And of course, through their child, she carried him with her wherever she went. He had not truly left her. He would never truly leave her.

* * *

Time passed.

A creak. The door swung slowly open.

"Your grace?"

Qyburn entered, even he applying caution approaching the queen in her current state. His Hand badge was freshly polished, his robe pristine, as a sign of respect for the queen's shock and grief if not for Ser Jaime himself. Slowly, he approached the body. Qyburn remembered meeting Jaime Lannister at Harrenhal, years ago. In agony, his stump half-rotted, the kingslayer had refused to let him remove the whole arm, refused milk of the poppy, refused everything. _I'll scream…I'll scream loudly_ …Qyburn had thought him the embodiment of the Lannister lion that day. And now, the lion lay dead in his den, the lioness catatonic by his side.

Qyburn reached Jaime's side, keeping a careful distance from Cersei, who had not acknowledged his entrance. She had not moved for the past day and night. He looked down at the handsome face of the dead man, still only a little lined with age, his hair still golden. Such a waste…but all men must die. _Valar morghulis_ , as the Bravosi said. There were no stones on his eyes.

Finally, Qyburn looked up to Cersei. Her face was almost unreadable. It was as if she was not truly in the room, as if she did not really exist, or at least whatever she saw through her glazed-over eyes did not really exist. He doubted she would speak to him. But he would try nonetheless.

"Your grace. I am so sorry for your-"

" _Bring him back_."

Qyburn jumped a little as Cersei spoke. Her voice was little more than a croak. But still-the venom flew from her teeth as if she was a viper.

"Your grace-?"

" _Bring him back_."

Qyburn looked at the queen. Even in her most desperate moments, he had never seen her look like this. Her expression was inhuman. She looked like a wild animal, like she could strike at any moment. But still-he had to reason with her. "Your grace…I cannot wake the dead…I'm sorry-"

" _Find out how. Do it. I don't care what it takes. You bring him back_."

The Hand looked down at the body on the table. He took a deep breath… "Ser Gregor…was an experiment. Is that really what you want for your brother?"

" _I don't care. Bring him back_."

Qyburn thought of the burning sept. He looked at the queen, knowing that if he refused her, he would meet the same fate. He sighed…then reached down, and took Jaime's hand in both of his, feeling it. "I do not know how long it will take. Months, perhaps, or-"

Suddenly-Qyburn leapt a foot back from the table, dropping Jaime's hand in shock.

Cersei's head snapped up. " _What_?"

"He… _it's impossible_ …" Qyburn rushed back to his side, not quite keeping his professional air...he was too shocked. Carefully, he took Jaime's hand, feeling his wrist, running his fingers over and over... "How strange. There was nothing...but now I swear I felt-"

Suddenly-Jaime gasped.

* * *

Brienne hoped that Maggie would not be much longer. The smell of fish was almost intoxicating-she struggled not to vomit onto the ground in the alley. She could not relax, even though there was no direct danger here. It would be so wonderful simply to walk down the street carefree, without looking over her shoulder all the time. Gripping Oathkeeper, she prayed a day would come when it would no longer be necessary.

She leaned hard against the wall, her head swimming with sickness, feeling so weak and useless-the two things she loathed more than anything else in the world. Having fought her entire life against weakness and uselessness, she felt as though all of her efforts had been crushed. Still-she had to bear it. It was not forever, as Maggie kept saying. There were only weeks until it would all be over… _weeks_ …she wondered whether she would feel that the child was safer inside her, where his survival depended on hers, or once he had been born, still so fragile and helpless, so easy to take from her…She supposed she would never feel that he was completely safe-

Suddenly-she sensed someone else in the alley. Someone behind her.

Brienne spun around, drawing Oathkeeper, with more difficulty now. She shook her head a few times in an attempt to sharpen her senses as she looked frantically around the alley. No one-but someone was there. Lurking in the shadows. She could feel it.

"Show yourself!" she demanded, using all of her strength to keep her voice steady. She shrugged a little to pull the cloak more securely over her head to cast her face in shadow, drawing herself to full height. She pointed Oathkeeper threateningly into the gloom. "Well? Come out!" Still nothing. Her blood had begun to boil in rage and fear. "Come out, you coward!"

"A fine way to speak to me, little bird…" A tall man emerged from the shadows. His hood fell to his shoulders, revealing his face. "For the sake of the gods, girl, point that thing somewhere else."

Brienne almost fainted with relief as she looked up at the familiar, gently lined face, those striking blue eyes, of Lord Selwyn. " _Father_ ," she breathed, staring at him as if she did not quite believe he was real. He was looking at her strangely, his eyes bright, his smile sad. But before another moment could pass-he had rushed to her and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead.

"Thank the gods you're alive…" he murmured into her hair. "I've been here for three days, watching the harbour. I was beginning to think you lost…but of course not. You'd survive anything, wouldn't you, my love?"

Brienne was overwhelmed as her hands slid around her father's shoulders, still hardly daring to believe it. "H-how did you know?"

"Little bird," Selwyn smiled properly now, giving a small laugh. "I am your father, and I know you well. Even in your state you would ride for your husband come hell or high water. I just looked for the red cloak. You're quite safe, I promise-I am here with my own men. No one knows you are alive except myself, Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys-and the soldier who helped you escape. I rode here as soon as soon as I was fit to."

Brienne leaned into her father's shoulder, drinking in his familiar smell-it felt like centuries had passed since she had last seen him at her wedding. Every memory of that day came flooding back to her like a tidal wave, and she had to fight not to cry. " _Thank you_ …"

"Well, what was I going to do, leave you friendless and pregnant in the North on your own?" Selwyn kissed her again. "What an appalling father I would have been- _and_ grandfather. No, I came as soon as I could. And now here you are…I have missed you dreadfully. It seems that the moment I get you back, you are gone again…" He sighed-then stepped back, his hands on her shoulders. "So where to now, little bird?"

Brienne gritted her teeth. "To Jaime." she said, looking her father straight in the eyes.

Selwyn's face fell a little-but he raised his eyebrows knowingly. "Of course. You wouldn't let me take you home to Tarth if I tried." He nodded, resigned. "I have your back. We will sail for the capital, and gods help us all. I shall fetch my men and get us passage."

"Oh, no, I already have-"

But before she could say another word-there was a small gasp from the mouth of the alley.

" _Maggie_ ,"

Brienne had momentarily forgotten her companion. But here she was-Brienne's purse in her hands, and a face of perfect astonishment as she looked up at the towering figure of Lord Selwyn. While Brienne was road-worn and exhausted, Selwyn's armour shone, the Tarth sigil on his chest, his silver hair neat, his piercing eyes accusatory-every inch a lord. And Maggie looked positively terrified.

Without missing a beat-Selwyn's hand flew to the hilt of his great sword. He glared down at Maggie, taking a step in front of Brienne. "You will move along now if you know what is good for you, woman!" he barked.

"No!" Brienne took her father's arm, giving Maggie an apologetic smile. "Maggie, this is my father. I'm sorry, he's a bit- _well_ -" She turned to Selwyn. "This woman saved my life, father. I would have died if she had not taken me into her home. She has been my companion since, and is going to accompany me to Kings Landing."

Maggie still looked horrified-but she seemed to snap to her senses as she looked up at the giant of a lord who stood before her. Quickly, she sunk into a clumsy half-curtsey, half-bow. "M'lord!" she squeaked, looking fearfully at him with her large grey eyes.

"Apologise to Maggie, father," Brienne looked sternly up at Lord Selwyn.

Selwyn looked amazed. He gawked down at the lowborn woman before him, still in her half-bow, her peasant's clothes repeatedly repaired, her hair wild, her accent so common…but that did not seem to matter anymore.

The lord bowed to the farmer's wife. He knelt to the ground before her, taking her hand in both of hers and kissing it, his head bowed. Maggie stared on, more shocked than ever. To have a lord bow to _her_ … "Madam…you have my eternal gratitude for saving and sheltering my child. My daughter is priceless, but I will reward you handsomely for this great service to me and to House Tarth. You shall have gold, land-whatever you want from me in the world, if it is in my power, it is yours. If you have sons, I will take them on as my own squires, build them up to be knights. I will-"

" _Yes_ , father," Brienne said impatiently, knowing how Selwyn could ramble on.

But Maggie stared down at Selwyn. Her eyes were stars.

"-anything I can do for you in return for saving my daughter." Selwyn finally looked up from his great bow. He made to stand upright again…but found that he remained kneeling. He looked up into the peasant woman's huge, grey eyes, his great brow furrowed a little…before finally, he got to his feet, coughing slightly. "Yes…" he murmured, slightly unfocused. "Anything you…uh…"

Maggie still said nothing. Perhaps she simply could not speak. She merely gawped at the lord who had bowed to her, her eyes turning from grey to sliver...

Brienne felt the air becoming distinctly thick and weird as her father and Maggie stared at one another. Despite the lines on their faces, the grey in their hair-they looked like a pair of awkward teenagers. Impatient, she gave a loud cough. " _Thank you_ , father."

Instantly-Selwyn seemed to snap back to his senses. He tore his eyes from Maggie, turning back to his daughter with a grunt. "South, then! I had better get passage for myself and my men." He dropped a clumsy kiss on Brienne's hair, patting her distractedly as he left the alley, marching as purposefully as he could, his head held high like a king.

Maggie stared after him.

Brienne looked up at the sky. The clouds were drawing in. She felt movement from her baby, so small and light and yet growing stronger by the day. She wrapped her arms around her belly, thinking only of her child's father. " _South_ …"

* * *

Selwyn shook his head several times as he walked away to find his men. He gritted his teeth to ground himself, for he felt strangely light. He could not understand why-perhaps it was joy at finding his daughter unharmed, in the company of...a lowborn woman. A _lowborn_ woman...who had quite the most astonishing eyes Selwyn had ever seen...

He shook his head harder as he approached his men-four knights of Tarth summoned from the Sapphire Isle. He had summoned them not for himself but for his little girl-Brienne would never admit that she needed help, but despite her show of bravery with Oathkeeper in the alley, he knew she could no longer fight as she used to, run as she used to, and so she could not defend herself as she used to. He smiled weakly to himself-if only he could have kept her safely on Tarth forever. It was not to be-he'd known almost all of her life. But he could never have imagined the gods putting her in more danger than he could possibly have imagined. He wished vaguely, as he had done a thousand times, that he had ordered her to come home after Renly Baratheon's death. But then...she would never have met Jaime, his painfully new son. As much as he would have hoped she'd have chosen a less dangerous man, he loved Jaime now, in spite of everything. He loved the way Jaime lit up his daughter's face, the way he loved her as she deserved to be loved. He prayed for Jaime every night.

And, if Brienne had never met Jaime, Selwyn would have no grandson. It would not be long now...he prayed for his grandchild's safe delivery harder than he had ever prayed to the gods for anything before...

"Well, I was right," he said, as he reached the four knights, who turned from their conversation and listened respectfully to him. "We're going to the capital, and gods help us all."

"Yes, my lord..." one of the knights said...but there was a strange look on his face.

"What's wrong?" Selwyn asked, as sharp as ever.

The knight looked around at the others for help...then sighed, looking Lord Selwyn straight in the eyes. "Word from the capital, my lord. The Kingslayer is dead."

* * *

Jaime's eyes were closed. He was still, un-moving, unresponsive to anyone or anything...but, in light, short gasps as something even Qyburn could not yet explain had him claw his way back from the land of the dead...he breathed.


	39. Chapter 39

**Hey! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the world, you're all awesome :D more tomorrow xxx**

* * *

Night had fallen, even earlier than it had the previous day. There was no moon in the sky, for it was covered by cloud. The chamber was lit as brightly as possible with candles, the light soft yet touching everything in the room. The enormous bed, canopied with Lannister colours, embroidered with lions, seemed to glow. The chamber was no more than a corridor away from the queen's chamber, as was almost as grand, if a little smaller. The furnishings were lavish, the roaring fireplace beautifully carved, and everything seemed to be red or gold. Ser Gregor guarded the door.

Jaime lay in the centre of the bed, his death shroud gone, swapped for bed sheets and pillows. His wounds had been seen to properly by Qyburn, a huge jug of water by his side. Jaime's cheeks had been pale in death, but now they were beginning to restore their gold colour, his hair neat, his skin washed free of mud and dirt. His clothes from the North had been burned, and he had been dressed in new nightclothes, warm and crisp. Softly, the covers moved up and down as he breathed.

Cersei sat beside him, in a wooden chair. She had not left him for a moment since his arrival, and she would not do so until he woke. Which she was confident he would-any moment, perhaps. She smiled slightly-she and her brother were supposed to be together, this only confirmed it. The gods had given Jaime this second chance, breathed life back into him…though Qyburn insisted he had never been dead in the first place, only death-like. He could not explain how-he wanted very much to look into it, but Cersei would not allow Jaime to become an experiment. Especially as he still lived.

Besides-she knew better what had happened. He had been dead when he came to her-and after returning to her, he was alive again. It was her. The gods had released him from beyond and sent him back to be with her. She needed no further proof. He was meant to be with her, and she with him. Nothing would ever come between them again.

She turned her empty wine glass over, looking down at Jaime's remaining hand. It had been washed and cleaned with the rest of him-with no filth from the North, he looked almost new. His other arm carefully hidden beneath the bed sheets, out of sight and mind, Cersei could kid herself that nothing _had_ ever come between them, that he was still whole, still the other half of her, like the sides of a coin.

Not long now. Not long…

* * *

Past midnight.

Movement.

Jaime took a long breath through his nose. A muscle in his jaw clenched-then unclenched. His eyelids screwed up-then relaxed. They opened a fraction…before falling closed again. Another breath. Then another.

Cersei jerked alert. She stared down at Jaime, praying that it was not her imagination, her heart leaping and racing in her chest. " _Jaime_?"

Jaime swallowed. His eyes were closed-but his long eyelashes flickered, as if he was seeing. Another long breath out. The fingers on his left hand twitched. Slowly, as if it was a great effort…his mouth opened.

" _M_ …"

Cersei cast her eyes to the ceiling, feeling joy rising like a phoenix inside her. She'd known. She'd _known_. "Jaime?" She reached down, taking his hand in both of hers. "Jaime?"

" _M…my_ …" Jaime's voice was scarcely more than a rasp. His throat was dryer than sandpaper. Instantly, Cersei reached for the water jug, sprinkling drops on his cracked lips. "… _my_ …"

"Jaime, I'm here." Cersei said, her voice almost cracking, taking his hand again. "You are home now. Everything is alright." She reached out, stroking his hair, newly washed and soft. "I'm right here. You are home at last."

"… _my love_ …"

Cersei felt her heart catch in her throat.

"I knew you would come back to me…I _knew_ …"

Jaime's eyes crumpled, then smoothed out again. His eyelashes fluttered, as if he was trying to open them, but could not find the strength. His lips had become a tight line of effort. "… _so long…but_ _finally_ …" he whispered, incoherent-but Cersei understood. She could not help it. Everything she had ever felt for Jaime, since they had been born, washed over her, almost knocking her over and drowning her in the force of the wave. She bent her head and kissed his hand hard. She was sure, if she was still able to, she would have wept. She looked down at her brother, feeling at last that he was home, that she was no longer alone in the world. The coldness she had felt since discovering what he had done all but melted, leaving a burning warmth in its place.

"Oh Jaime…" she whispered, stroking his hair, kissing him again. "You are home now. I am beside you."

Jaime's forehead screwed up. But it did not relax. His eyes were still closed. " _Where are you_?" he asked, his voice hazy. " _Where is this_ …?"

"The Red Keep," Cersei said, clasping his hand as tightly as she could, her hand buried in his warm, soft hair, the exact shade of her own. "Everything is alright, I swear it." She sighed, a moment of purest humanity passing her. " _Gods_ , I missed you, Jaime…"

" _R…red_?" Jaime's voice was becoming gradually clearer. His eyelids flickered, opening less than a fraction. Cersei could almost see the green colour beneath, so warm and familiar…Jaime's whole face screwed up, in a herculean effort…and he managed to open them a fraction more. " _W…what did you say_?"

"The Red Keep." Cersei repeated. She gently stroked his face, feeling his strong jawline, his cheekbone, the plains of his cheek and forehead. "You are safe now."

Jaime's brow furrowed under her fingers. His eyelashes fluttered once more against the palm of her hand, like the wings of a cadged bird…before his lips parted again.

" _C…Cer…Cersei_?"

"Yes, Jaime, I'm here." To hear him say her name was nothing short of wondrous. Cersei marvelled at how warm his skin was, how good it felt to touch someone she loved again, how long it had been since she had held a live person and loved them. Jaime was alive and so was she. They would never be parted again. "You are home now, my love. You are home, and you are safe. I am here…"

Jaime's eyes shut so tightly it must have been painful-before finally-they shot open. Wide, bright green, filled with dismay. " _Cersei_?" He blinked rapidly, looking all around him, his face growing slowly more horrified. He coughed twice…before his eyes finally met his sister's.

A long moment passed, in which the two siblings merely stared at one another, each hardly daring to believe that this was real. To be united again, after so long, after so much had happened…it felt almost too dream-like. Jaime's mouth opened…and hung there. His eyes flitted sickeningly left and right, as if something was flashing before his eyes…he tried to sit up, but found himself too weak. His face was becoming more terror-stricken by the second.

"Jaime?" Cersei tried again, squeezing his hand. "It's alright. I promise. All is forgiven. I'll forget everything you did. You're home-that is what matters."

"I…I'm dead?"

"No, thank the gods," Cersei was beginning to feel uneasy, so she held on tighter. "I told you, all is forgiven. There is no need to look so-"

But Jaime had snatched his hand from hers, as if it was burning. He stared down at it in horror, as if it was something disgusting, inhuman, clenching and unclenching his fist. Then-he looked back to his sister…Suddenly, there were green flames, like Wildfire, in his eyes.

" _I was supposed to die_."

"Jaime." Cersei grabbed his hand again, firmly. "I understand. It was in the heat of the moment-everything was-far too many mistakes happen while the iron is still hot. You don't need to look so…it's over now. You're here. With me. And I-"

"You…" Jaime's expression was turning from one of confusion…into one of fury. "You… _you killed her_ …"

Cersei smelled the danger before she could fathom the reason. Carefully, she unhooked her hand from her brother's and stood up, staring down at him. She frowned. "What do you mean?"

Tears filled Jaime's eyes, beginning to spill down his cheeks. He looked up at Cersei, shaking all over. His eyes were darting all over the room in shock, but they always came back to her. "You _…you_ …" He could not seem to speak. Swallowing hard-he managed to look her dead in the eyes. "I…I was supposed to die…I was…I killed that soldier…I…B… _Brienne_ …"

Cersei felt her insides turn to solid ice.

"… _Brienne_ …" The name was no more than a moan. "You…your army…you…she…" His whole body tremored as his face grew ghostly white. "You… _My child…You killed them_ …"

Cersei stood upright. She felt her hands beginning to become weak as her brother looked up at her in such a way. It was such an alien expression on his face-she had never seen the like of it from him before. He looked like a mad dog. She took a careful step back from the bed, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

"You have no need of that, now. It's over. I told you it was over. You are home now. Ja-"

" _I was supposed to die_!" Jaime's voice was a plaintive wail now. His face was twisted into something Cersei had never seen in any man's face, let alone Jaime's. It almost scared her-but she could not afford fear now.

"You are not dead. You may have been, but you came back to me." Cersei kept her voice as soft and measured as she could. "You have no need of any of this now. I am here. Your _sister_." she said firmly. "Your _sister_. We have only each other now, Jaime. You and I in the world, as it always has been. I forgive you everything you did. You need never leave me again, I swear-"

But Jaime's hand had shot for her throat.

She was out of his reach, and his grasp was far too weak, but Ser Gregor marched from his place to stand behind his queen, a hand firmly on his sword. Cersei stared down in disbelief at her brother-but with the Mountain by her side-she could not help but feel powerful. "That was an act of treason."

Jaime's hand hung uselessly, limply in the air.

Cersei made her voice as authoritative and regal as she could. "You have committed so many acts of treason against me now, Jaime. I forgive you for leaving me without notice, for lying to me, for…lying with…" She could not bring herself to say it. "-and I am willing to forgive even your part in the planned Northern rebellion to usurp my throne. But one word…and I can have you executed for treason where you lie."

" _For the sake of the fucking gods, woman, do it_!" Jaime had no voice with which to scream-his voice was a heart-rending rasp, straight from the depths of his soul. He hand dropped pathetically, tears flowing thick and fast. " _Have you not tormented me enough?_ _If you have an ounce of mercy in your soul, if you ever had any honest love for me, let me go to her_!"

Cersei took a step backward, towards Ser Gregor. She could not understand her brother…it was almost as if he…he was talking pure nonsense-he had taken leave of himself. Yes. Brainwashed by that whore beast of Tarth and months in the North...She was certain. He just need to sort his head out. He had clawed his way back to life-of course he would be unusual at first. She was positive he would be her Jaime again once he was well. "Ser Gregor, I order you to guard Ser Jaime. He needs to rest. Do not leave his side."

She gave Jaime a final, long look. She winced as she looked at his stump hand, now lying in defiance on the bed sheets. "Gather your senses. We shall speak in the morning."

Without turning back, she swept from the room, banging the door behind her.


	40. Chapter 40

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the world, hope you're all well.**

 **Again, this is only half the chapter I had planned to post but the rest isn't up to an alright standard yet, so hope you enjoy this anyway! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

Brienne sat alone on her bed, in the cabin she shared with Maggie. Maggie herself was gone somewhere, so she had quietness. Although she sailed under a false name, and there was no way that anyone could know who she was as she showed her face outside this room, she could not find peace. The timbers around her creaked, rain beating down hard on the waves outside. It was only rain, thank the gods, no storm, but Kings Landing could not appear quickly enough on the horizon. Brienne did not like travelling by sea. She much preferred to ride, though it took much longer-but the urgency of the situation called for a quicker journey. Besides-as the baby grew, soon she doubted whether she could ride at all.

It was strange to be alone. She had been used to solitude when she was younger, especially after the death of her brother, Galladon. But at Winterfell, when her child was to be king, she had been guarded around the clock. After that, when the danger was even greater, Jaime had never left her side. As the ship gently rocked from side to side, the wood groaning, the rain pelting the window, Brienne remembered how much she hated sitting still. She felt so claustrophobic on a ship, with no fresh air or anywhere to walk. Then again, perhaps that was a good thing. Maggie had been insisting that Brienne needed to take life easier until the child was born, that she needed to rest for his sake, otherwise he could arrive early, small and weak, putting his health at risk. The thought of jeopardising him made Brienne's blood run cold-but things seemed to keep happening. At least being stuck on this ship meant that she had to stay still, that travelling was effortless.

She had not seen much of her father. Selwyn had been suffering badly from seasickness-whenever she did see him, he looked pale and tired, as if he was not sleeping. There were large, purple bags under his eyes. A pang of guilt-it was for her sake he travelled. But it would only be a few more days until they reached the capital. Brienne looked down, wrapping her hands around her belly. It was impossible to forget that she was never really alone these days. The more he grew, the harder everything was becoming. But the hardest thing was how much he reminded her of his father, of Jaime. She feared for her husband constantly. But she would be with him again soon. Whatever it took.

* * *

Selwyn had lied to his daughter. He was not seasick in the slightest-he ruled an island, for the sake of the gods.

He had not meant to lie to her. But of course she asked him why he looked so ill, why he looked as if he had not slept, why his eyes looked bruised. He had looked down at his daughter, so concerned for him, her eyes so wide, her face beginning to dare to show signs of hope that she would be reunited with her husband, her pregnancy showing so clearly…and he could not tell her. He could not bring himself to tell her.

That had been three days ago. The guilt for keeping the awful news from her when she ought to have heard first ate away at him amongst his grief. He could not get his son-by-law's face out of his mind-the way Jaime had looked when he had married Selwyn's daughter, smiling, laughing, so effortlessly handsome, positively bursting with life…and now he lay somewhere on a slab, lifeless, simply gone. He had taken his own life with his own hand…

It was wrong. It was so wrong.

But Jaime was dead.

Selwyn thought of his daughter. His heart bled all over again, the pain almost unbearable. He grieved bitterly for Jaime-but he could not imagine what his death would do Brienne. He knew his instinct to protect her was overwhelming his sense of right and wrong. She _had_ to know her husband was dead. He could not bear to think of her finding out only once they reached Kings Landing. It was too horrible to think of. But she needed to know. Once he had told her, he would take her straight home to the Stormlands, home to Tarth. Perhaps there, she may eventually find peace.

Besides…Jaime had thought Brienne had been murdered…and that had driven him to kill himself.

Selwyn prayed that he knew Brienne well enough to trust that she would not do the same. She was far stronger than Jaime, not that weakness had killed him. But Selwyn was sure she would not take her own life, that she would find it in her to carry on…But _shock_ of it…Selwyn feared that she would lose her baby. That would truly destroy her.

He could not fathom a way to tell her, a time to tell her. He knew nothing would ever be the right way, the right time. But every time he told himself he would do it…he simply couldn't. He _couldn't._

* * *

Jaime drifted in and out of consciousness. Above him, he could see only a blur of red, the canopy above him merely a wash of scarlet. Perhaps it was the cloak. Perhaps it was blood. They were one and the same now…

…

The pain in his chest was constant, aching as his wound healed. But it was nothing. Physical pain was nothing compared to what was inside him. Nothing at all.

…

Perhaps hours had passed. Or weeks. Jaime had no concept of time, or way to track it, for the windows had been boarded over. He had not managed to die at sea, like Myrcella. Perhaps Cersei feared he would jump to his death, like Tommen.

It didn't matter anyway.

…

Jaime did not have the strength to protest when two guards entered his chamber, pulling him upright onto the pillows. He vaguely noticed that each of them put down their swords before coming to him, only to pick them up again when they stepped respectfully back, exiting quickly through the open door. He supposed they were under orders not to allow any sharp objects within his reach. Even the bedposts had been covered with layer upon layer of soft material, to cushion them. There was no way that anyone in this room could harm themselves.

Jaime's head lulled forward slightly, so that he was forced to look straight ahead rather than up.

Cersei had appeared before him, Ser Gregor directly behind her, his hand grasping the hilt of his huge sword. She was dressed in a high-collared black dress, her small lion crown on her head, though it was not a state occasion. Her face was thinner by far than he remembered it, and her hair was beginning to grow back, so it looked straggled and strange. The half-light from the candles, her gauntness and unnatural hair put Jaime in mind of the Mad King himself.

"Brother," she greeted him, her voice cold. Jaime looked up at her, into her bright green eyes, her face the most familiar sight in the world, and yet the most alien to him. She was Cersei, his sister, whom he had once loved more than life itself…and yet she was not.

Jaime looked up at her crown, so strange on her golden head. His weak eyes found the lion design, shining brightly, as if it had just been polished…suddenly, a memory stirred inside him. A memory from his wedding… "…Where is the wooden lion cub?" he asked, his voice scarcely above a croak. "What…what happened to it?"

Cersei frowned. "Wooden lion?"

Jaime looked down, away from his sister. There was almost no strength in him at all, his bones heavy, his muscles unresponsive. "It…it must have…been in my clothes…Where is it?"

Cersei pursed her lips. "Whatever it was, if it was in the pocket of the clothes you arrived in, it was burned with them."

Jaime felt a terrible sinking inside him. Any strength he had left was drained from him like water into sand…he half-sat up on the pillows, lying perfectly still, eyes cast down, too weak to even cry. _Burned_ …of course it had been burned…of course Cersei had burned it…he could not see any more. Everything was a red blur before his eyes…

Cersei took another step towards her brother. His pathetic state seemed to calm her wariness of him. Jaime could feel her eyes on him, even though he could not look up. "Jaime…" Her tone had become official. "I am offering you a full pardon for your crimes against the crown. Were you anyone else but my brother, I would have you executed. Do you understand that?"

Nothing.

"But I would pardon you. Everything that occurred in the North, any plans you helped to make against me, your role in the intended usurping of my throne…I forgive all." She spoke as if she was granting Jaime a great favour. "You are my brother, and I am the queen, and my word is law. Therefore, you shall not suffer any more for your crimes against me."

Nothing.

"However…" Cersei took another step forward, now within reach of Jaime. "I must be certain that you will not betray me-your house, your _family_ , your _only_ family-again. Therefore, you will now stay with me, in the capital, for the rest of our days. There will be no more missions, no more travelling. You will stay here."

Nothing.

Cersei's voice was becoming more agitated. "You owe me at least your cooperation for my pardoning your crimes. I could have you executed where you lay. But I do not. You are my only family now. We must stay together. We are _meant_ to stay together. That…that is what _you_ always said." She leaned down to him, her voice lowering to a hiss. "We came into this world together, Jaime. We are two halves of one whole. We cannot be without one another. You know all of this." She laid her hands on the bed beside him, her weight making a slight impression on the mattress. Jaime did not react. She leaned closer, her breath right in his ear. "You love me. You have always loved me. We love one another alone. It is far too dangerous to love too many, so we have always loved one another, and no one else but our children. _You know this_."

Still nothing…but, at the mention of their children-Jaime gave the smallest of winces.

Cersei had closed off her heart to the deaths of their children. She simply did not allow them to touch her any more. It was the only reason she was able to carry on. But she could see Jaime had no such defense... "Do you remember them? Joffrey, our eldest son…Myrcella, our only daughter…Tommen, our baby boy…?"

Jaime was statue-like. But he grew paler.

"Our children, Jaime… _ours_." Cersei hissed to him. "They were born because we love each other. They existed because we love each other. For the sake of the gods, _remember_." Suddenly-she kissed his stone lips.

It was as if he outside of his own body. Cersei had not kissed him for so long…her lips were so familiar on his. He did not respond…But suddenly-memories. Memories of kissing her, kissing his sister for hours, touching her, holding her, making love to her…there had been a time when he thought of little else...

But she felt like a stranger now. This woman was not the sister he had loved. Her kiss was a viper on his lips.

Cersei broke the kiss. She forced him to look straight into her eyes, as she stared him down. "You understand now, Jaime? We must be together. We are all we have in the world…" Slowly…she sat down on the bed, facing him. She held his face in her hands, her touch familiar and alien all at once. But cold. So cold…She leaned forward, her face inches from his, whispering to him, her voice soft. "Remember how we love, Jaime. Remember how you loved me all of your life. For I have loved you all of mine. No one else has ever mattered. To _either_ of us…" She kissed his temple, running her fingers through his hair as she whispered low. " _I love my brother…I love my lover_ …" Again, she kissed him.

He had no strength to move, to fight. He was dimly aware of the Mountain stood beside them as his sister kissed him, kissed him in the way she had a thousand times. She did not appear to care who was there as she kissed him, touched him, held him…but Jaime felt nothing. It was as if he was a corpse. Her kisses did nothing but serve to remind him of the last, the very last time he would ever kiss Brienne...the sweetness, the strength, the light, the love upon her lips…now, they were gone. Now, they lay in ashes...

Finally-Cersei stopped, breathless. She was panting a little, her fingers scratching at his chest. "You remember now, Jaime? Your sister…our children…"

Jaime saw Myrcella, blood pouring from her nose. He saw Joffrey, his face purple, choking to his death. He saw Tommen, his body broken beyond recognition…he saw the face of the child he would never see, the wooden lion cub going up in flames, burning, burning…

"…for I am queen and my word is law. I love my brother, and he loves me, and there is nothing anyone could do, even if they wanted to…everyone else is so small I can't even see them. They cannot touch us any more." Cersei slipped both of her hands into Jaime's good one. "The Targaryens wed brother to sister for centuries…remember? It doesn't matter anymore. We can be together. You can stay by my side, as it was always meant to be…we can finally love one another again…" Her lips sank into his.


	41. Chapter 41

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the world, guys, hope you are all doing well! Please continue to do so. Hope you enjoy this, more tomorrow! Much love xxx**

* * *

Maggie stood up on deck, watching as the skyline of Kings Landing drew closer and closer. There was no rain, and yet no sun-but the bleakness and greyness did not deter her. Her face hung in absolute wonder, grey eyes darting all over, each moment spotting something new and yet moving on before she could possibly have time to look at it properly. She was positively overwhelmed, as if blinded by the brightest light. "Gods be good, it's _enormous_ …like a dream…" she muttered to herself.

Selwyn had not made his presence known behind her-she had been too spellbound to notice his approaching her. He was not looking at the capital, in all its glory. Instead-he watched the woman who had saved his daughter. Her eyes were so wide, so shining, almost childlike in her lined face, beneath her mop of dark hair, grey coming through the roots…he felt odd.

There had been no shortage of women in his life since his wife, the mother of his children, had died. Young women, sometimes whores paid to lie to him, to pretend to love him for a night. He enjoyed them immensely-he loved women, loved their bodies, their voices, their long hair…none ever lasted for more than a year. He moved from one to the next, never letting himself become too attached, never knowing them well enough, never asking them the questions he longed to. This was half the reason he had avoided his daughter's companion for the week's journey…for he wanted to ask her everything, wanted to know everything about this common stranger with the eyes that had so enchanted him…

But now, he found that he had followed her outside. To see her look at the capital as if it were the heavens themselves, as if she had never seen anything like it in her life-which he supposed she hadn't-it was _fascinating_...

Selwyn grunted a little.

Instantly-Maggie whipped around, her face falling into one of fright. She sunk into another clumsy curtsey, her head bowed. "M'lord," she greeted him. Selwyn felt the corner of his mouth twitch-he liked her funny, Northern accent, the way she said "m'lord" rather than "my lord".

"Madam," He stood beside her as she straightened up, looking out to Kings Landing. "I…trust you are well?"

Maggie looked determinedly away from him, out to the city before them. "Very well, m'lord."

Selwyn swallowed. "How do you like the view?" he asked, conversationally. Consciously, he toned down his clipped tones, in an effort to reduce the barrier between them as lord and lowborn. It seemed very important that she be comfortable.

"…Wonderful, m'lord." Maggie answered, her eyes lighting up again. "Never seen nothing like't."

Selwyn smiled again. "I suppose it is…though the waters pale in comparison to those of Tarth. That's why it is called the Sapphire Isle. Though Shipbreaker bay rather spoils the illusion…" He winced a little, feeling stupid-why was he giving a _geography_ lesson?

"Yes, m'lord." said Maggie politely, though plainly she did not understand what on earth he was talking about. Quickly, he ploughed into safer waters.

"I meant everything I said, madam. You shall be greatly rewarded for your services to my house-land, gold, anything…"

Maggie gave a small shrug, looking embarrassed-but the ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Eh…I don't ask for nothing, m'lord…but o'course, anything that would help my sons…"

Selwyn felt a small sinking feeling in his stomach. "You _have_ sons, then?"

"Two, m'lord."

Selwyn swallowed hard. _Ah_ … "How…lovely. And a husband too, I suppose?"

Maggie nodded, still looking away from him.

Selwyn looked back out to the capital as it drew nearer and nearer…he could see the Red Keep, far off…he wondered if Jaime had been buried yet. He felt an acute pang in his stomach, thinking of his son...the guilt ate away at him, knowing he should have told Brienne…but he had decided to wait, take her to a safe place on land, somewhere to hide… _then_ tell her, where she was safe, where she could take it in, where she could grieve in peace…he would let her rest for a few days, before finally taking her home to Tarth…perhaps for good.

He coughed. "You must be very proud. Two boys…I shall build them up as knights in my service. They will both prosper."

A flash of hope crossed Maggie's face-then-the lines around her eyes creased as she gave a nervous laugh. "Eh! All they've known are cows! Funny to think of 'em as becoming knights…but all y'ever want for y'children is something better than what you had, eh?" She paused slightly. "I mean…m'lord."

Selwyn sighed. "That is too true." He felt another pang of guilt. "That-and wanting to protect them…"

"Yes, m'lord," Maggie nodded, knowingly. She looked back towards the cabins of the ship. "Though, I s'pose there's only so much y'can do…"

Selwyn sniffed a little. "I know…my daughter makes it rather difficult…" He smiled weakly. "Trouble just seems to find her."

"She is _magnificent_ , though," said Maggie, still looking out to the horizon. "I wish I had an ounce of her courage..."

Selwyn felt a faint glow of pride. He loved the way that Maggie talked about his daughter, with so much admiration and affection. "She is…if I say so myself…but I think travelling across oceans for a stranger is _very_ courageous, don't you? Very rare, very...er..." The words dried up on his tongue.

Maggie's pale cheek turned a delicate pink. "M'lady isn't a stranger…but thank you, m'lord." Quickly, shyly, she turned around. "S'cuse me, m'lord. I must get back to her."

Selwyn shook his head, coughing slightly. "Er-yes, yes, of course. Er…" Surprising even himself-Selwyn politely offered his arm to the surprised Maggie, her eyes like huge silver plates.

"Allow me."

* * *

Jaime winced as a new golden hand was strapped firmly to his stump. The straps were so cold and tight on his skin, the metal as icy and heavy as he remembered it. Qyburn did not look at him as he fastened it, but kept finding excuses to touch his forearm. Jaime new he was feeling the veins, the pump of blood, proof he was truly alive. When he had finished-Jaime raised it, feeling the weight of it, his new red tunic sleeve falling slightly down his arm. He was thinner than Cersei had remembered him to give measurements for his new clothes, though Cersei had forced him to begin to eat again. His physical strength was returning to him-though, as he looked at the golden hand on the end of his arm, every inch the capital and Cersei, he felt the weakest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

"There," Cersei nodded approvingly at the golden hand. "An improvement, don't you think?" She approached him, bending down to take it. "I preferred the first one of course. Such a shame you lost it." She ran her fingers over the metal, tapping it gently, before taking Jaime's other hand. "Don't you think?" she repeated, her voice sharp.

Jaime forced himself to speak. "Yes. Of course."

Cersei smiled, satisfied. "Good. Perhaps you will take care with this one." She stood up, forcing him to stand up with her. His legs had regained their strength, though his spine none of its posture. His shoulders were rounded in his too-large clothes, as if he had shrunk. He looked down at his sister, who was watching him with hawk-like eyes. "Come." she ordered. "You will walk with me." Keeping a firm hold of his arm, she led Jaime out of the room, Ser Gregor following closely behind them, his footsteps heavy on the stone floors.

Jaime had no choice but to obey, to follow. He followed his sister through the halls of the Red Keep, once so familiar to him...now they could have been anywhere, anywhere in the world. Just walls, walls and floors. It was colder than he remembered. Nowhere near as cold as Winterfell, but there was a chill in the air. Perhaps it was the cold, heavy gold hand, like a chain around his neck, _choking him_.

Suddenly-a door opened. The fresh air on the battlements hit Jaime's face, the wind strong at the altitude, so sudden that it almost knocked him over. His eyes watered a little as he looked around, the whole of Kings Landing hitting him in the face like a punch. He could see the tops of buildings all around below him, the slums of Flea Bottom, the thatch, the wood…the gap, like a missing tooth, where the Sept had once stood. The sky was grey, clouded over…and so was the sea. He could see it, stretching out forever…there was a ship, slowly approaching the harbour…it seemed so alien to see the world still turning, life going on, unaffected by the fact that his had ended.

"Walk with me." Cersei stood to his left, wrapping both of her arms firmly through his good one. She began to step forward, walking close to the wall of the battlements, ensuring that they could be seen by all below…

Jaime followed wordlessly. It mattered not to him that he knew that everyone in sight of the battlements would be staring up at them, as he walked with his sister as if he was her lover. He didn't even bother to imagine what kind of things the people would be saying. Cersei's face was determinedly calm, her cheekbones like razors, her lips a fine line. She walked firmly, keeping him close to her, looking straight ahead. There was defiance in her expression, sheer defiance. In his…nothing.

Cersei walked on, slowly, confidently, her head held high. She turned to look at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the faintest hint of a smile cross her lips. She reached up, not caring that they were visible for miles around, and kissed him, far too intimately, far too deeply…

Jaime was made of stone.

* * *

Selwyn walked ahead of his men as they stepped off the ship into the port. The first thing that hit him was the smell-the capital had always smelled of piss and lies. He ran a hand over his plain armour, void of any Tarth sigils. His men were dressed similarly, the eight of them marching behind him, every side of his daughter and her companion. Selwyn could see the Red Keep, high above in the distance…he felt a stabbing pain in his side.

As the men marched on, Selwyn hung back to talk to his daughter. Maggie was staring around at the dirty, messy port in such wonder that he could not bear to disturb her. Instead, he walked straight to Brienne.

"Pull that cloak down," he told her, and straight away, she yanked the hood further over her face, casting it in shadow. "We're going to find somewhere safe."

Brienne looked up at her father. She looked absolutely exhausted, her permanent state as her pregnancy neared its end by the day…but her face was set, her eyes ablaze. "Jaime." she said simply. Selwyn could see that she kept looking up in the direction of the Red Keep. Her hand was inching towards the hilt of her sword.

Selwyn swallowed. He reached out, taking her hand in his. "Somewhere safe first, little bird. We must protect you and your child above all." He kept hold of her hand, as if supporting her-and himself. As he looked into her face, so strong, so determined, so completely _Brienne_ despite everything…the lump in his throat would not dissolve, only becoming larger, more painful. Once they reached sanctuary, he would have to tell her…

Letting go of her hand, he turned from her and walked ahead, his jaw clenched. He kept imagining the different ways he could tell her. The coward he was, he had left it to her nurse to explain her mother's death-and she had been too young to really understand. Now, she was no child. To tell a woman-a pregnant woman-that her husband was dead…especially when that woman happened to be the person he loved most in the whole world, his only surviving child, his little bird…he wished he could take all of the agony that was about to befall her and bear it himself. He would give anything to protect and shield his daughter from the very worst. But this time…he could not. Though he knew that there was nothing he could do, he loathed himself. Just imagining her face when she heard the news…

Selwyn gritted his teeth as they walked, heading to the place he had planned. To distract himself from his own thoughts, he listened to the snippets of conversation he caught around him. Due to his armour and the knights who followed him, shielding Brienne and Maggie from view, the crowd parted easily. But still, he could hear…

"… _fucking criminal, these fish prices. The bones better come out gold_ …"

"… _and then, mother kicked me arse from bollocks to sundown and called me a cu…"_

"… _quite a match. Thought Aaren's cockerel was a dead cert…"_

"… _oh, fuck right off!"_

"… _brazen as anything, the queen. Did you see her?"_

Selwyn's ears tuned in at a mention of Queen Cersei.

"…walking along, arm in arm, this very afternoon, in broad daylight! As if the gods smiled down on her… _Disgusting_ …"

A woman's voice.

"…if she and the Kingslayer were not already damned to the Seventh Hell, they are now…wouldn't be surprised if more bastards of incest followed…"

Selwyn's heart stopped.

"Shush!" The woman's companion hissed to her. "You don't know who is listening!"

The woman made a disbelieving noise. " _As if_. Queen's too preoccupied now she has her brother back. Walking on his arm like the whore she is…and he, Oathbreaker, his head hanging in shame! I should think so too, children of sin…"

Selwyn looked up at the Red Keep.

There was no sign of mourning. The flags flew at full height.

And the woman…if she was to be believed…that meant…

Jaime was alive. _Jaime was alive._

It was all Selwyn could do to stop himself crying out with joy. Suddenly, hope flooded through his veins, warm and sweet as the sunlight. He looked up again at the Red Keep, double-checking, triple-checking…but it was true. There were no signs of death, just red lion banners flying in the wind…and the woman…if he had been seen walking that very afternoon…

He had survived.

Selwyn's heart was beating so hard it almost dizzied him. He glanced back at Brienne, feeling warm relief flood him… _Jaime was alive_ …

But in the claws of the queen, his sister…the ecstasy flattened. He looked back up at the Red Keep, defiant on the skyline, picturing Queen Cersei leading Jaime by the arm along the battlements, like an animal on a chain…

His fists clenched. If Jaime really _was_ alive...

He had to get his son out of there.


	42. Chapter 42

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the world, please continue to do so! More tomorrow xxx**

 **Just a quick acknowledgement of several comments I have received: I have not forgotten about the dragons...:P**

* * *

"I just cannae believe how _tall_ the buildings are…all the way up to the _sky_ …" Maggie stood on tiptoe by the window, still gazing out in awe. Two floors below them, the dirty cobbled street was lined with stalls, the sellers yelling to their customers and to one another, thick smoke from the fires as meats and nuts were roasting, sending up delicious smells. The awnings were a wild mess-some plain and brown, some with beautiful, intricate patterns, as beautiful as the jewellery and charms being sold beneath them. "So warm…The sky is so _blue_ …" she murmured to herself. "It's really… _south_ …ain't it just?"

Brienne hardly heard the noises of the city, the smells making her feel vaguely sick. She looked at the door to the apartment Selwyn had acquired, knowing that knights of Tarth stood on guard outside. It was small, the walls plain and yellowish white. Not much light made it through the tight, high windows, only small pools shining onto the floor. A good hiding place, if nothing else. Selwyn had been vague as to how exactly he had managed to find this place, hidden in the backstreets above the busy day market, sending even more Tarth knights ahead to hold it until he arrived. She had a feeling that the past occupants were not long dead…but there was nothing to fear from the deceased. Only from the living.

She tapped Oathkeeper impatiently against her knee, having been persuaded to sit down in this wooden chair. It was rock hard, old and battered, but she felt as if she could fall asleep. She was always so tired…but now, she was wide awake, watching, waiting, hardly able to sit still despite her exhaustion.

Selwyn himself was busily re-fastening his armour, his fingers moving quickly, waving away any offers of help. He kept looking out at the afternoon sun, as if scared it would disappear.

"I don't believe we can enter the Red Keep ourselves, even if we were not enemies of the Crown." Brienne said. "Cersei will have doubled, or tripled, security since she took the throne. We need to find a way to-"

"Now-stop right there, my girl," Selwyn's eyes snapped to his daughter. "If you think that I am going to let you come anywhere near the Red Keep, then you are sorely mistaken."

Brienne had been expecting this-but still, she bristled, clutching her sword tighter. "I will not sit here idly, waiting for someone else to find my husband for me!"

The ghost of a smile crossed Selwyn's face. "Well, that's just tough. You're going to have to get used to it." he said, frankly. "It is far too dangerous-you know that if it was up to me, I would have had you sailing back to Tarth tonight, and I would follow you the moment I have Jaime. I cannot be worrying about you while I rescue him. I will need all of my wits to get him out of there."

"Yes, m'lady." Maggie tore her eyes away from the window, hurrying to Brienne's side. "Y'must stay here and rest. If you're tired, so is the child. You must rest for him."

"Truer words were never spoken." Selwyn shot a quick smile at Maggie-causing the barest hint of a pink tinge on her pale cheek. He turned back to Brienne. "Yes, you will stay here, little bird. Stay here where it is safe, and rest."

Brienne looked at the two faces, looking at her with such love and concern, as if they were _both_ her parents. She could not bring herself to feel annoyed with them, for she knew they were right-but still, it was frustrating as hell to feel so useless. "Thank you." she said, instead.

Selwyn dropped a kiss on her forehead, so familiar and soft. "I will not return unless I have Jaime with me. I do not know how long it will take-but I will not rest until I can bring him back to us. Make sure you take care of yourself."

" _I_ will make sure, m'lord," said Maggie, a hand on Brienne's shoulder.

"Thank you, madam," Selwyn smiled at her again. "I know now that I have nothing to fear on that front…" He allowed himself to regard her for a few moments…before gently stroking Brienne's hair a final time, checking his armour and sword, and marching out of the door, followed by several knights. Just like that, he was gone, the door banging shut behind him. Brienne heard the sound of locks being turned.

Brienne trusted her father to the ends of the earth-but he was not as young as he used to be, and she knew how he could charge into situations without much thought of the consequences. She worried for his safety, praying he could be cautious. If only she could go and protect him herself-the capital was so dangerous, especially now. Every time she thought of how she had brought her child within reach of Cersei now, her blood ran cold…but she was so near to Jaime. He was so close, close enough to breathe the same air…she prayed for her father's swift return with her husband with all her remaining strength. She hardly dared hope that, in a few hours, she may be beside him again.

* * *

Jaime sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead. On the wall opposite him, he could see a tapestry of a lion, golden on red, ferocious, the threads seeming to glitter in the bright light. Although it was only the afternoon, and the sky had not begun to darken, the room was filled with hundreds of candles, so it was almost blinding. Jaime could clearly see every detail of the lion on the wall, count every stitch…and he had to. For if he did not…

Cersei seemed to consider any moment she was not clinging to him a moment wasted. It was as if she was making up for lost years, or she thought that if she did not hold onto him, he would simply disappear. Though her eyes were conflictingly cold, her kisses were warm, her arms like chains around him. There was something threatening about the way she stared him down as she kissed his neck the way she used to, her teeth a little too close. And so-he simply stared ahead. He could not look at her.

Cersei did not seem to care that Jaime had frozen. Though there was heat, there was something distinctly business-like as her lips buried themselves in his skin. She did everything exactly the same way as she had done a thousand times, the only difference being her cold eyes-and of course, his lack of reaction. It was as if she had planned every move she was going to make, and would not deviate even a little from her script.

The room was positively glowing, every door and window thrown open. It was obvious that, for the first time in their lives, Cersei _wanted_ them to be seen. There was no hiding behind locked doors, no springing apart at the slightest outside movement, no stolen kisses in the shadows…if he had been as he once was, he would have been mortified. Now…he simply stared straight ahead, feeling Cersei's lips work hard against his, as comfortless as knives…he could do nothing but stare at the wall and wait for it to be over.

The kiss broke. Cersei looked straight into his eyes, her breathing a little roughened. Her face had been arranged into something that was both expertly seductive and incredibly aggressive, like a lioness toying with her prey before she devoured it. She leaned in closer to him, her teeth inches from his ear… "You need not stay in your chamber tonight…"

Jaime did not react as Cersei began to kiss him again, with carefully planned urgency, almost making him believe her passion was genuine. He stared at the lion on the wall, at its teeth, at its jaws, at its claws…somewhere in the distance, he could feel Cersei's hands on his neck, her nails gently scratching at his throat. She kissed him harder, her teeth biting at his lips, her hands stroking down his chest, down his belly, to his waist, and lower, far too low, her fingers slipping under his belt, under his clothes…Jaime could feel his entire body turning cold as she touched him, unresponsive, unable to move, unable to do anything at all… _anything_ at all.

Cersei blinked at him in surprise…but her eyes were narrowed. She stared him down, her gaze steel. "What is the matter with you?"

Jaime said nothing. It was as if he was simply a mind, living inside a vessel over which he had no sensation, no control. He felt nothing at all. Still, he stared straight at the lion on the wall.

Cersei sighed. She unhooked her hands, the bright light seeming harsher than ever. "No matter," she said. "We have plenty of time…" She stood up, walking over to the window, which was wide open, the scarlet curtains gently waving in the breeze. She stared out at the sky, her voice slowing down… "If the Northerners are desperate for you to provide me with an heir, then we must oblige, must we not? Every monarch needs an heir…" She turned back to look at him.

A cold shiver.

Cersei fixed him with a steel glare. "You know that I am not a patient woman. I…suppose…it may be natural to have…problems…after such a long time apart. But I will not wait long, Jaime. I have the realm to consider. House Lannister must survive. And that is up to us."

Jaime felt as if all his insides had drained away. He looked at his sister in disbelief. Slowly…he managed to open his mouth to speak. " _Cersei_ …"

"What?" she snapped back, striding back to him, standing at full height over him. This had never failed to intimidate him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. It was almost gentle-but her nails dug in firmly. "You cannot keep this up forever, Jaime. I am your sister, and your queen. You will be quick about restoring your love to me, otherwise I shall be _forced_ to take action. Remember that you committed treason against me, against your own house and the crown-and yet here you sit, inside the Red Keep beside me. I have bent over backwards for you, Jaime, because you are my brother, and I love you. It is _grotesque_ that you will not show even a little of the same loyalty to me. I am your _queen_." She bent down, kissing him again, her teeth sharp against his lips, almost biting, her nails running over his chest… "And you… _will_ …do what I ask of you…"

Jaime opened his mouth again-but no sound came out.

Cersei forced him to meet her eyes. "I shall give you one night to change your attitude. I pray you make the right choice."

With that…she swept from the room.

Jaime was left alone, sat on the couch. His mouth felt odd, as if it had been burned, or bruised, still tasting his sister on his lips, feeling her nails and teeth. His whole body, everywhere she had touched him, felt abused, invaded, violated...He looked again at the lion tapestry, at the teeth in its golden jaws, imagining them devouring him where he sat…it would be a mercy now.

The thought of lying with Cersei again…

He knew her. He knew that she always got what she wanted, no matter what blocked her path. She had burned a city half to the ground before now…after what she had done, taken everything from him…the thought of _lying_ with her…he could not. He _would_ not. To lie with the woman, who felt as far away from the Cersei he had once loved as was possible to be, who had _killed_ his wife and child…He would destroy himself before he would do it.

But he knew her. He knew, that when the time came…Cersei _always_ got what she wanted...Jaime felt sick. And scared.

Suddenly-with a loud creak-the door swung open. Jaime looked up, expecting Cersei to have returned-but instead, there came a little boy with golden hair to his shoulders. He could not have been more than eight years old, his nose snub, covered with freckles. He was the son of some knight, Jaime knew, training as a squire. Though what he was doing in a royal chamber, entering without knocking, was beyond Jaime.

The boy stood, his hands respectfully behind his back, waiting to be invited to speak, looking a little nervous. Jaime felt a pang as he looked at the boy's blonde hair, so young… "Yes?" he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle, despite thoughts of Cersei's words beating down on him like rocks from a cliff.

The boy turned up his chin, and approached Jaime, a little hand outstretched. As he moved, Jaime could hear the sound of metal clinking against other metal in his pocket-coins. Far too many coins for a young boy to be carrying around.

In his hand-a note.

"For you, my lord!" The boy bowed quickly-then scampered from the room, the coins jingling loudly in his pockets.

Jaime carefully unfolded the scrap of paper. There, words scrawled in blue ink, in a hand he did not recognise:

* * *

 _I have your sword._


	43. Chapter 43

**Hello! Thank you so so so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! A huge hello to anyone who has recently joined-please stay with us! Much love!  
**

 **Unfortunately, I must again apologise for falling well below par-this is half the chapter I wanted to post, and so late in the day that it is practically tomorrow already. I hope that you still enjoy! I will post a longer, better chapter with a bit more action tomorrow at a more usual time so I can get back into one regular chapter a day again! I am so sorry-it was a hell of a day, but hopefully life will be more normal again now and I can post properly for you guys again :)**

 **More tomorrow, thank you! Much love xxx**

* * *

Joffrey was there. He was right in front of her.

Her feet touching nothing, Cersei hurried forward to her son…but no matter how fast she ran, he was never any nearer. She ran on, like a cheetah, finding that her feet never seemed to hit the floor, as if she was flying. But still, Joffrey was never quite in her reach, his face so distant it was blurred. Still-she could not stop running. It was hopeless, it was hopeless…Joffrey was _dead_ …he was dead…but she could not stop. Even as the flames licked around her ankles, she could not stop, even as the fire scorched her, she ran on, even as she smelled her own flesh burning…

Cersei woke, her entire body soaked in cold sweat. She found she was breathing hard, as if she had truly been running. She kicked the covers off of her, finding that she had wound herself into them far too tightly. The sun was streaming in through a gap in her scarlet curtains, the dream fading faster and faster until she could hardly remember it. Or told herself she couldn't...Desperate for distraction, she looked across to the empty pillow beside her…the last time she should wake up to an empty pillow, she thought. It was easy to imagine Jaime's golden head beside hers again, still asleep, more handsome than ever in the early light…and he would open his beautiful green eyes and smile straight at _her_ once more…

The queen rose, pulling her red robe around her, splashing her face with water. She shook her head to get rid of the last traces of her dream, before bracing herself for the day ahead. By the time the sun set tonight…Jaime would be back beside her, waking next to her, in his rightful place. Everything in the world would fall back into it's rightful place.

Whatever it took.

* * *

Jaime had sat awake since the early hours, knelt beside the boarded-over window, staring at the note in his hands. He turned it over and over in his hands, unable to fathom what on earth it could imply. He could not work out whose hand had written the words. A memory had stirred when he had read them…the messenger at Riverrun… _She says she, er, has your sword_ …

Jaime crumpled the paper up in his fist.

But they were just words. They were not in her hand. That was impossible anyway…he wondered whether it was a threat. He knew how many enemies he had, his house had-even his old allies in the North were bound to think him traitorous now. Especially since Cersei was making no attempt to hide her intentions with him from the public eye. He was sure anyone who had ever hated the Lannisters now loathed them tenfold, the crown on Cersei's head and the burned sept making her untouchable. Rebellion was surely in the air…then again, the threat of Wildfire was enough to keep any sane man far away.

So perhaps this note was the best his anonymous enemy could do. If it was a death threat, he found he did not care. He already felt he was living on borrowed time, at complete peace with the idea of the sweet embrace of death when it finally came to him. But the _words_ …they were torture. Jaime pictured Brienne's face, which never left his thoughts, her astonishing eyes, his own scarlet cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. His heart ached unbearably. They were _her_ words. Jaime felt as if someone had stolen them from her mouth, as her life had been taken from her, as everything had been taken from them. How anyone could use words from his dead wife's lips to torment him was inhuman. Jaime felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart.

Then again, the longer he stayed with Cersei, the more he believed that, even from the very depths of rock bottom, as long as you lived, life could _always_ get worse.

A knock.

"Ser Jaime?" A guard had entered. "Her Majesty requests your company."

Jaime half-raised his head, the ghost of a sardonic smile on his face. "Only _requests_? Does this mean I have the freedom to decline?"

The guard did not look sure whether to laugh, or shout at Jaime for his disrespect. Instead-he coughed. "As quickly as you can."

...

Cersei's arm was locked firmly into Jaime's, wound like a leash on a dog. Her hands were as cold and comfortless as the chains, feeling as if they were cutting into his skin, rubbing it raw. Behind them, he was vaguely aware of the Mountain, his heavy footsteps on the stone as he guarded his queen. As was natural now, Jaime numbed himself to everything to get him through the day, to carry on, to have the woman who was no longer his sister, who had ordered his wife and child's deaths, clutching his arm like a vice. It was a kind of mental armour.

"I trust you have given my words some thought?" Cersei sounded as if she was addressing a small council-but her eyes were sharp.

Jaime looked directly at the ground. He felt physically sick as he remembered what Ceresi had said the previous day. The thought of it…he would kill himself before he would do it…especially since the note. _I have your sword_ …remembering how it felt to hold Brienne, to lie with her, to love her in every way possible…he realised, with a pang, that they had never had their wedding night together. It seemed so stupid and insignificant, compared to everything that had happened…but it was one more thing they should have shared, one more thing that had been taken from them. _I have your sword_ …

"Jaime?" Cersei's prompt was unsettlingly gentle-and dangerous.

What could he do but give a reluctant nod to show that he had understood. There was nothing else he could have-

Suddenly-Cersei stopped dead. The next thing Jaime knew-she had taken his face in his hands, leaned up and kissed him full on the lips. Jaime felt like a rock being violently smashed into by a rough sea, her hands cold, her lips loveless, biting, the seventh hell…

When it was finally over-Cersei turned them both to face the walls of the battlements, overlooking Kings Landing from the ruined the Sept to Blackwater Bay. She held his solid new golden false hand in hers, her other clutching the stone wall as she looked out. "The entire realm is ours, brother. Every man, woman child, every lord and peasant, every castle and farm, every last piece of shit on the ground." She took a deep breath. "It will be ours _forever_ …ours, our children's, their children's…House Lannister finally in its rightful place. And we in ours…I on the throne…and you by my side…"

Jaime hardly listened. It was as if poison was being poured into his ear…But he looked over the wall.

It was such a long way to fall. No wonder Tommen had been smashed to pieces…it would kill a man instantly…

Jaime placed his own true hand on the wall, trying to decide wildly if it might be possible to climb over and jump before Cersei or the Mountain could stop him. He looked down, directly onto the distant cobbles far below…it would take only seconds to fall…he would land on the street, amongst the common people living their lives below, and then there would finally be nothing-

But something else below had caught his eye.

There was a man standing directly below him. Jaime only noticed, because he was exceptionally tall- _exceptionally_ tall. Jaime squinted, looking closer. The man was dressed in a long, simple brown cloak, which cast his face into shadow…but he was looking straight back up at Jaime.

He frowned. Careful not to disturb Cersei, who still looked blissfully out on her world, he looked closer, narrowing his eyes to try to focus them. There was something awfully familiar about this man…it was so bizarre. From the stare that was exchanged between Jaime and the shadowed face, he was sure that this man was no stranger…

Suddenly-the tall man lifted his hood from his face. Beneath it…short grey hair, grey beard, the lined face of a man of six-and-fifty years…even from this height, Jaime could tell that his piercing eyes were as blue as the sapphire sea…

 _Selwyn_.


	44. Chapter 44

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* * *

Jaime wrapped a plain black cloak tightly around his shoulders, hiding his clothes beneath it, pulling the hood firmly down so his face was cast in shadow. He smoothed his hair down so the gold would not show, then shook the cloak over his golden hand. Through the boards on his windows, he knew the sky outside was grey-pink-dusk had fallen. Cersei was meeting with Qyburn in the small council chamber, which now housed the smallest council there ever was. Jaime's hand was shaking-he had perhaps two hours.

He knew where Cersei expected him to be in two hours.

But that was the last thing on Jaime's mind now. His father-by-law was in Kings Landing. Lord Selwyn. Brienne's father.

Jaime gritted his teeth. Unimaginable guilt churned inside him. At least now he knew where the note had come from. But now…he had to face him. He owed him that much at least-but now, he had to face the man whose only child was dead-and it was Jaime's fault. Jaime's hand shook harder, his fist painfully clenching. He had sworn his sword to Selwyn's daughter, had cloaked her before a sept, had promised to protect her so many times…and he had failed.

Before he could think about it anymore-Jaime forced himself over to the door, pushing it open.

"Ser Jaime?" The guard on duty whipped around as Jaime left the room. "Where are you going?"

Jaime turned to him without hesitating for a moment. "I must return to Her Majesty's side. If you will excuse me-"

"Then I must accompany you." The guard strode along behind him purposefully, his head held high. "I am under orders from the queen never to allow you to leave your chamber alone, in case you do yourself injury. Therefore-"

But his voice was cut out as Jaime summoned the last of his strength, swung his golden hand around and knocked the guard out. Blood seeped from his head as it smashed sickeningly on the stone floor, spreading into a thin pool of red.

"Didn't think about me doing _you_ injury though, did you?" Jaime muttered coldly, before pressing on. He had lived in the Red Keep for years-it was not too difficult to get out undetected now that he had a reason. The thought of Selwyn-any connection to Brienne-seemed to have breathed new life into him…and as he snuck through the servants' corridors and crept around corners, dodging into the shadows whenever he encountered someone-he almost felt an old rush of adrenaline...

...

Finally, he reached the exit which would come out almost exactly where he had seen Selwyn that morning. Finally, fresh air on his face…but something was wrong? Jaime frowned…there were _no guards_. Not a single guard stood on this door…but he couldn't think about that now. He had only two hours. He slipped out into the street, crouched to the ground, covering his mouth so his breathing was muffled, scanning the street before him…and a tall man in a brown cloak stood in exactly the same place, waiting.

Jaime's heart caught in his throat.

Selwyn turned-and spotted Jaime. He stared at him for a moment-before curtly indicating with his head that Jaime should follow him. Then, casually, he began to walk away from the Keep, into the backstreets, his cloak low over his face…

Jaime had no such cool. As quickly as he could, his cloak flying out behind him, he followed Selwyn into the shadows. Finally, as Selwyn entered a back alley, Jaime caught up with his long strides, just as Selwyn turned around to face him.

Despite his rush, Jaime could not breathe as he looked up into the face of his father-by-law. Selwyn looked almost exactly as he had done at the wedding, though now there were heavy purple bags under his eyes. _Those eyes_ …the piercing sapphire blue, exactly as Brienne's had been…and his face was so calm. Jaime was so moved by the composure of Lord Selwyn, by his stiff jawline and dry eyes-that he broke down entirely as he stood before him. It felt as if all of his grief came flooding back to him, a thousand fold. He could not hold back. He fell to his knees at Selwyn's feet.

"Jaime-" Selwyn began-but it was a dagger to Jaime. The calmness of his voice, the caring concern it…it just made tears fall thick and fast down Jaime's face.

" _I…I'm sorry_ …" he choked out. " _I-I swore to protect her…I swore her my sword…and I could not save her. I failed your daughter and I failed you." He looked desperately up at Selwyn. "It is my fault that your only child is dead_."

"Jaime-" Selwyn began again, his eyes wide.

" _I have forsaken the only vows that ever mattered to me!"_ Jaime's hands ran wildly through his hair in hopelessness. " _I am Oathbreaker, a man without honour-your daughter is dead and it is my fault-I know how you must hate me, but it is nothing compared to how I hate myself! I cannot bear to live with myself_ -"

"JAIME!" Selwyn shouted suddenly. He put a hand on Jaime's shoulder, pulling him to his feet. "Stand up, man! Get a grip on yourself!" But then-Selwyn pulled him into a rip-cracking hug. "I am so glad you are alive, Jaime. You have no idea how worried I have been about you. But you're alright, and that is what matters." Selwyn patted his back comfortingly.

Jaime looked up at him, every organ in his body seeming to melt. He could not believe it. "But-" He swallowed hard. "Brienne...is _dead_ because of me. I failed to protect her-"

"Then it is a blessing that she is so good at protecting herself."

Jaime looked straight at Selwyn. The world around him stopped turning.

"What-"

"Come with me now." Keeping an arm firmly on Jaime's back, Selwyn began to lead him through the streets, hurrying through the shadows along the cobbles. "Didn't have any trouble with the guards, did you?"

Jaime's head was reeling. "Uh-"

"Good," Selwyn muttered, his strides seeming even longer as he rushed Jaime along. "I sent Ser Alun and Ser Owaiyn to deal with the gate, but I couldn't do anything about the inside. Bloody nightmare, it's been. I am amazed you got down so quickly-you got my note? Must have, I suppose, paid the lad enough-hurry up, it's not far." Selwyn sharply turned a corner.

Jaime could not believe what was happening-he hardly dared believe that he was not dreaming... _it is a blessing that she is so good at protecting herself…IS so good at…IS_ …was there a chance…no. There could not be. Brienne was dead-she had been murdered at Winterfell by the soldier Steven under Cersei's orders…she was dead…he had seen her blood running down her wedding dress onto the stone floor-it was a sight that would haunt him until the day he died…and yet…Selwyn's manner… _IS_ …

He could barely allow himself to hope.

* * *

Brienne stood by the window, just out of sight of the street below, where the market stalls were packing up for the evening. She was not close enough for a decent view, but she could see a slither of the street, over which she watched and waited. It was ridiculous, she knew. Her father might not be back for days, and yet she could not help watching…

Maggie was asleep on a chair behind her, hair wild, her mouth hanging slightly open. Not being recognisable, she had taken a short trip around the market place that afternoon, and had returned with her eyes full of stars. Brienne never ceased to be amused at Maggie's constant state of amazement in the capital. Maggie was so dear to her now that it was easy to forget that they came from different worlds.

Ser Gethyn stood guard by the door, his sword permanently primed. Brienne too never let Oathkeeper out of her reach, though Ser Gethyn had a knack of making one feel safe no matter what. He was an aged knight, very large, his great black beard beginning to turn white. She had known him since she was a child on Tarth. There was something in his warm brown eyes that was inherently comforting, such a far cry from his fierceness in battle. It was as if he was two different men in one. She was glad, of all the knight of Tarth, that he was there.

She did not take her eyes off the street below, watching, waiting…

Suddenly-she saw it. Moving through the thin crowd. A great, tall man in a long brown cloak. Behind him-Ser Owaiyn and Ser Alun.

And by his side…

Even under the black cloak, there was no mistaking him. She would know him anywhere.

Jaime.

Brienne could not breathe.

* * *

Jaime swore he could see a ghost. There was no other explanation as to who stood before him in this poor, small apartment high above the street. Her face was as white, her hair almost as white-but her eyes were bright blue-sapphire blue. She stared back at him, silent, almost as disbelieving as he was. If it wasn't for those eyes, he could not have believed that she was not a spirit. But she stood on the ground, her eyes wide, the scarlet cloak around her shoulders, her belly swollen beneath her tunic…whole. Complete. And staring back at him.

Brienne had come back from the dead. They had both come back from the dead.

She was _alive_.

Jaime did not notice that his feet were moving until he had rushed to her, standing only a foot away, as if closer inspection would prove that she was not real after all…but the moment he threw his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body…she was alive. _She was alive_ , and Jaime could do nothing but cover her face with his tears as he held her.

" _Gods…gods_ …." He could say nothing more. The warmth of her body, her breathing, her heartbeat…his head swam, his heart raced, he swore it almost killed him again…but he lived, they both lived… " _Gods_ …"

"Jaime," Her voice breathed new life into him, cementing his feet firmly back on earth, filling him with strength like he had never known before. She was here. She was really here.

" _Brienne_ ," he breathed, scarcely more than a gasp. "…I…I can't believe it…you're…I believed you dead-I-" He swallowed hard, clasping her face, her shoulders her arms, her hands-but everything was perfect. She was completely unharmed. "You're…you really _are_ …" His tears fell faster.

"I'm _fine_." Brienne murmured into his shoulder, her own voice thick, though she did not cry as Jaime did. She held onto him as close as she could. " _Gods_ …" she whispered, as if she could hardly believe he was there either. She seemed unable to find a single word to say…but finally, she settled on: "I love you…"

" _I love you_." Jaime sobbed into her hair. "I-I'm _so sorry_ …."

"No-" she managed to say. "No, it wasn't your-"

But Jaime held her tighter, hardly daring to ask. "And…and the…the child?" he choked.

"He's fine."

Jaime breathed out, almost collapsing with relief. He kissed her hard, again and again, as if he could never do it enough. Now, she was back in his arms, and he prayed that she would never leave them again. " _Thank the gods…thank the gods_ …" he gasped, before more tears absorbed him. Suddenly, it was as if everything else in the world had simply vanished. Everything he had been through, everything that had happened since their wedding day, the miles and kingdoms that had separated them, the dagger through his chest, even Cersei herself…none of it mattered any more. Jaime's world had been restored to him, come back from the dead-from waking up this morning with nothing, to suddenly having a reason to live again…Brienne…the baby…his own wife and child…it was more than he could bear. All he could do was hold onto her, and, for as long as he could, forget everything else there was. Jaime was truly alive once more. And all he knew was Brienne.


	45. Chapter 45

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* * *

"… _how_?" Jaime asked, gazing at Brienne in wonder, after he had calmed down. He kept finding excuses to touch her, gently brushing her hair back from her face.

"Varys," Brienne explained breathlessly. She could not believe that Jaime was beside her again, that this was not a dream, that the man she loved was safe and well, and she had made it back to him…she noticed the cold metal hand hanging by his side and felt a pang-she knew how he must hate it. "He helped me escape Winterfell…and the soldier-what was his name? Steven?"

"Steven?" Jaime felt an acute wrench to his stomach. "Oh…he _helped_ you?"

"He is Varys' spy. What's wrong?"

Jaime looked down, guilt stabbing at him, seeing the young soldier's face…how he'd tried to help him for the entire journey…the blood gushing from his chest as he died by Jaime's hand... "I…I thought he'd murdered you…"

"Yes, that was the way it was supposed to look," Brienne frowned, realising that something was wrong. "I had hoped word would get to you somehow..."

"Well, yes, that would have been nice!" Jaime shook his head, taking her in his arms again. "Would have saved me a _hell_ of a lot of…well, _hell_." He caught Selwyn's eye over her shoulder; the old lord shook his head significantly, indicating that he should keep his mouth firmly shut about anything he might have done to escape the hell, and Jaime got the message. "But no matter. You're alive. We are together. That's what matters." He found his hand was shaking again as he held her. "Gods, I can't believe you're here…"

Brienne leaned into his shoulder, letting herself grow weak in his arms. Despite everything, all her determination, how far she had travelled to be with him, there had been moments she had believed that she would never see him again. To hold him again… "I rode from Winterfell, past Castle Cerwyn-I would have died if not for this woman." Brienne pointed at Maggie-still fast asleep on her chair. "Maggie took me in-then we travelled to Whiteharbor and sailed for Kings Landing."

Jaime looked over to Maggie, taking in her wild hair, her lowborn clothing-Brienne could see a hint of his old superiority creeping into his expression-but instantly it dissolved into gratitude. "Thank the gods." he said again.

"Yes, dear Maggie was nothing short of miraculous," Selwyn stepped forward, finally smiling.

Brienne turned to him, almost smiling herself. " _Thank you_ , father."

"Oh, there is no need for that," Selwyn folded his arms, his eyes soft. "It is enough to see you happy again, little bird."

"I can't believe you made it from Winterfell-especially the way you are…gods, _look at you_ …" Jaime placed his hands on her belly, sighing in both amazement and sorrow. "He's growing so fast…I'm sorry I missed it…I'm so sorry about everything. I should have been the one to protect you both…I failed you. Again."

"Stop it." Brienne said firmly, placing her hands over his and holding onto him tightly. "There is nothing you could have done. You are here now, and that is what matters, like you said."

"I thought I'd never see you again…" Jaime choked a little on the last of his tears, because he finally smiled. He action felt so foreign to him, the muscles of his face jolting back into action. A strange laugh escaped him, half maniac, a noise of pure joy. He heart was so full he could think of nothing else to say. "Gods, Brienne, I love you!"

Suddenly-there was a gasp.

Maggie's eyes had snapped open. Finally woken by the commotion-she looked straight up at the golden-headed stranger in the room, who looked straight back at her with devastating green eyes. He was dressed in rich Lannister clothing, his head held high like a king, his face positively shining with happiness, looking even more handsome than ever…

"Madam," Jaime squeezed Brienne's hand, then made his way over to Maggie's chair. He bowed low to her, kneeling to the ground, taking her hand in his. "I cannot express my debt of gratitude to you for taking care of my wife and child…"

Maggie looked as if the heavens had just opened and thrown an angel down at her feet. Her eyes were wider than the ocean...a bewildered smile spreading across her face. Still half-dizzy from sleep, she looked from Lord Selwyn to Jaime, her smile becoming somewhat drunken on astonishment.

"Gods be good, I _like_ lords!"

* * *

Cersei shut her chamber door behind her, turning the lock carefully. Outside, Ser Gregor stood guard, under strict instructions only to open the door for one specific person. She looked around, checking carefully that it had been completely cleaned, as she had instructed, new sheets on her bed, new candles. Everything from the boar's head on her wall to the arrow Joffrey had shot through it was shiny and perfect. Not that any of it really mattered, of course it did not. But it might help. And Cersei knew she needed all the help she could get.

It was always so easy with Jaime-that was the point of Jaime. She thought wistfully of the time when she only had to say the word and he would do whatever he was bid out of sheer love for her. She remembered the way he used to look at her, the pure lust in his eyes, completely at her mercy, swearing on every god there was that he loved her. Apart from her children, it was the only thing she could be sure of-that Jaime loved her.

It was gone now. That Jaime was gone.

Cersei was not an idiot. No matter how he went through the motions, how he agreed to everything she told him, how he came and went as told and sat still while she kissed him…he never kissed her in kind. His head was down, his eyes never meeting hers, his shoulders hunched as if he was half the man. And whenever she tried to touch him, touch him in the ways that lovers touched…he would simply switch off. It was as if he was permanently clad in a set of invisible armour, which he tightened every time she tried to get close to him.

It was tonight that she would remove that armour. Hopefully for good.

Cersei loosened her high, black collar, taking off her silver chain necklace. She placed it carefully down on her dressing table-catching sight of herself in the glass. She paused. Reaching up, she tugged at a strand of her shorn straw-coloured hair. It was beginning to grow back, but so slowly…she hated it short. It was a constant reminder of how the High Sparrow had tried to overpower her, of that walk of shame she tried never to think about. She hoped it had been permanently removed from the minds of the common people after she had burned the sept to the ground…but it's shortness also drew attention to the bags under her eyes…she loathed how old her skin was beginning to look, how gaunt and pulled and weathered it looked. It just reminded her of that witch's prophecy, that hag Maggy, telling her that her children would surely die…that she would be replaced by a younger queen…

Well. Margaery Tyrell was gone. There was no one else. No other queens to threaten her.

She looked closer at her face, trying to relax it. She wondered whether it was even possible any more…but it didn't matter how she looked. If Jaime was willing to lie with that beast whore of Tarth, then she, the remainder of a once-beautiful woman, should be much more than enough. Not that he would have a choice.

Cersei wished she had not thought of the creature. Again, she recalled the last time she had seen the beast, at Joffrey's wedding to the Tyrell bitch. She could not fathom how Jaime could claim to have loved it. It was simply impossible-he had been taken in somehow. Perhaps it was the idea of the child…Cersei's fist clenched. Most of all, she had hated the fact that Jaime had another child, while all of hers were gone. It was so wrong. They shared everything.

Perhaps, if they were fortunate, they might make another child tonight. A final heir.

Cersei looked away from the glass and sat down on her bed. She waited. He would come soon. Soon.

* * *

Jaime could do nothing but hold his wife as tightly as he could. They had shrunk down by the wall, wrapped so tightly in each other's arms that the world seemed to stop at the plain white walls, with nothing beyond them. He leaned on her shoulder, drinking in her warmth, her every breath, her every heartbeat.

Selwyn had suddenly decided to insist on showing the astonished Maggie around the capital himself. Taking her arm, he had shown her out of the door, taking Ser Alun with him and leaving the remaining knights on guard outside the door. Brienne wasn't sure if her father was taking the opportunity to spend time with dear Maggie, whom she knew he was fond of, though she felt a little wary of it all since Maggie was married-but she wasn't about to complain. She knew it had been a rare moment of tact, to let her be alone with her husband at last. There wasn't much time-but every second was a blessing. And, as Jaime said, a second more than he thought they would ever have.

"…it's like everything has come back to me all at once. You have no idea what I have been through…I lost all my strength…" Jaime held her as tightly as he could. " _You_ are my strength. I cannot be without you. I'm so sorry. If I had known you were alive, I'd have crossed worlds to get back to you…"

Brienne felt their child move, small, but definite. Her heart glowed as she realised that Jaime had felt it too. He let out a small gasp, wrapping his hands around her belly. "Gods…that's incredible…" he whispered.

Brienne wanted to cry as her husband felt their child inside her. "He knows your voice, I'm sure…" she breathed.

"I just can't believe he's alright…" Jaime kissed her cheek, lingering as long as he could. "He is so strong…like his mother...I can't believe that you are both alive. You'd survive anything, wouldn't you, my love? Anything…" He kissed her again, hard, passionately. "I hate that you had to, I hate how much danger there was, I hate that you had to do it without my protection-but _thank you_ for coming back to me..."

"Of course I did…" Brienne leaned into him. "I could not leave you there. I love you. That means it would take more than a Lannister army to keep me from you, Jaime."

* * *

Cersei waited.

It was passed midnight.

Slowly…she rose. She walked over to the door and yanked it open, far more violently than was necessary. Ser Gregor turned to her, his great feet stamping on the stone floor, his red eyes staring at her from beneath his helmet.

"Ser Gregor. Search the Red Keep. Bring me my brother."


	46. Chapter 46

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 **Honestly, thank you so much! See you tomorrow, much love xxx**

* * *

"Tarth. Back to Tarth." said Selwyn firmly. "We will travel tonight, early, before first light."

Brienne thought guiltily of Lady Sansa, the cause, the plans to depose Cersei and restore order with a dragon queen…but she held Jaime's hand, as he stood behind her chair. This time, there could be no heroics, no sacrifice, for she would not be just giving her own life. The child had to come first. "Yes. Back to Tarth."

Jaime squeezed her hand tightly. "Tarth."

"Good." Selwyn looked at his daughter. "A week and a half, perhaps. Two weeks if we're unlucky. The Sharp Point can be hellish-and then there's Shipbreaker Bay. You know what that crossing is like. Will you…be alright?"

Brienne nodded determinedly. "Of course. My time is still a little off yet. I will be fine."

"A _very_ little…" Maggie commented worriedly. She exchanged a significant glance with Selwyn.

"Really?" Jaime asked, concerned. He put his arm around her protectively. "Please don't just say it to be brave, or accommodating, or anything like that. I know you. You have to say if you don't feel like you can-"

"What choice do I have?" Brienne snapped at him. "What choice do any of us have? We have to leave the capital, by any means necessary." She looked back to her father. "Do you think Tarth is the wisest place to hide? When Cersei realises Jaime is missing, she may make the connection. It might not be any safer than Kings Landing."

"Anywhere is safer than Kings Landing." Selwyn said firmly. "Anywhere in the world. Every man on Tarth is loyal to our family, and only our family. You will be better protected there than anywhere. Besides-Cersei thinks that you are dead. What is there on Tarth for Jaime apart from an aging lord? She will not send anyone there, it would be foolish. Tarth is the safest place for you."

"Yes," Jaime agreed, the coldness of his metal hand against her skin uncomfortable, and yet so welcome. "You're right. We need to leave here by any means necessary."

"Good." Selwyn clapped his hands, turning to Ser Owaiyn. "We'll go to the harbour now, sort passage. Then come back for you and Jaime. I want you both outside for the shortest time possible. From here onto the ship, without stopping, without giving anyone a chance to see you." Ser Owaiyn nodded purposefully, marching to the door. Selwyn donned his brown cloak, pulling it low over his face. He turned to Brienne a final time. "I am glad you are coming home at last." He kissed her forehead, before marching to the door.

"I'll come with you!" Maggie shot to her feet enthusiastically, pulling her own borrowed brown cloak over her mess of dark frizz-before pausing slightly, looking awkwardly at Selwyn. "Jus'…jus' to see all them ships again. Never seen nowt like it…m'lord."

Though his face was set-Selwyn could not help but look pleased. "Of course, madam," He stood back to hold the door open for her, before turning to Ser Gethyn, who stood just outside. "No one comes in or out. Understand?"

"Yes, my lord." Ser Gethyn nodded, his hand on his sword. He gave Brienne a small, reassuring smile, before Selwyn shut the door behind him, locking it firmly.

Jaime breathed out hard. He looked at Brienne, gently brushing her hair back from her face with his fingers. "This is it then." he said, his voice nervous-but the joy in it was unmistakeable. " _Really_ it. This is you and I, beginning our real life together…"

Brienne dared to feel a warm glow inside her. "I suppose you're right…it feels very strange."

"Very strange..." Jaime said wistfully-then, a spark came to his eye. "Very strange-my _Lady Lannister_."

Brienne could not help but laugh, though she sighed with frustration. Their wedding had felt like a lifetime ago-but with Jaime beside her again, it seemed like only minutes. "I am not _Lady Lannister_!" she insisted weakly.

"Of course not, my love," Jaime laughed a little-but he became solemn again. He walked around to face her, such love in his eyes that she had missed so bitterly when they had been parted. "You are no one except yourself. But you are my wife, nonetheless. We are warriors, you and I. We live on the road, on the field, sleep under the stars, with swords by our sides and armour on our backs. Neither of us thought we'd wind up marrying-having a family...and yet here we are." Jaime knelt down before her, his eyes shining. "It doesn't feel quite real yet, does it?"

"No, it doesn't..."

Jaime gave another small laugh, though this time his eyes were very soft. "It is beginning to, though. Especially with him," Gently, he stroked her belly, so swollen beneath her tunic. His smile widened as he sighed. "So soon now, and he will be in our arms…It keeps hitting me that I am going to be a father-a proper father." Jaime looked up at her, his eyes oddly bright. "He will grow up, and he will know that I am his father, that he is _our_ child, and that I loved him from his first moment…"

Brienne could say nothing, for she was choked with joy, but she took his hand in both of hers, holding tightly.

Jaime covered her hands with his other-before she winced, hissing slightly at the coldness of his gold hand. " _Damn_! Sorry…" Jaime rolled his eyes, looking down at his false, metal hand in deepest loathing. "I'd forgotten about it-Cersei had a new one made, you know she hates the stump… _Bloody thing_ …"

"Hold on," Brienne gently took his wrist in her hands. "Hold still." Carefully, she begun to undo the tight buckles binding the gold hand to his wrist. Jaime waited, watching her, his eyes soft. Finally, after a few minutes, she loosened the last strap, and gently slid the hand off him. She let it fall carelessly to the floor with a loud _clang_ of metal on wood. Jaime's stump hand, the strange bareness of the wrist, the skin pulled tight, healed, and yet never truly healed, lay in her lap. Now, without the false metal façade, he was completely her Jaime again. She picked his stump hand up, and gently kissed it, so warm, so familiar. "Better?"

Jaime smiled up at her, such love in his eyes. He kicked the hand away from them with his foot, letting it smash again against the wall. "Twice the man." He got to his feet, bending down to wrap his arms around her. He kissed Brienne deeply. The golden hand lay forgotten on the floor as she kissed him, her husband Jaime Lannister. She almost let herself believe-hope with all her heart-that they would never be parted again.

* * *

Lord Selwyn marched on through the night, Maggie hurrying beside him, Ser Owaiyn hot on their heels. He could see the sea now, smell the fish from the harbour, hear the calls of the night workers and the creaking of ship timbers. It was busy-there were crowds around the harbour day and night. Selwyn was glad-it was easier to hide in a crowd. Not that he was recognisable here. Maggie and Ser Owaiyn certainly were not, and so he was not overly concerned. Still, it would be unwise not to exercise caution.

"So warm, the night, ain't it, m'lord?" Maggie panted. "Couldn't even leave the house a'this hour back home-y'd catch y'death."

"Yes, madam," said Selwyn, too busy scanning the streets for danger to look at her, though he felt rude. He gave her a quick smile. "Wait until you see nights on Tarth. Every star is reflected back in the ocean…"

"Cannae wait, m'lord!" Maggie chirped, though she had the wits to keep her voice low. Selwyn chanced another glance at her, the hope in her huge grey eyes, the fact she managed to find even a walk to the harbour exciting. It was quite touching…for the thousandth time in his head, Selwyn damned Maggie's farmer husband…though he had to concentrate now. He had to concentrate on his daughter.

Finally, they came to the harbour, the fish-smell intoxicating, the sea whipping the rocks, the ordinary noises of men at work and ships on a harbour by night…and yet something was different. Something was _wrong_ …Selwyn craned his neck, looking out over the crowd, keeping his hood as low as he could over his face.

He could see a fishing ship, getting ready to leave to catch the first light of dawn. Fishermen were boarding the ship, with crates for their catch, nets, lines, baits…only they did not freely walk up and down the ramp. There were pauses-and shouts. Selwyn squinted.

He could see a large, red-headed fisherman, being patted down thoroughly by a man dressed in armour. On closer inspection-it was crown armour. All around him-more men in crown armour, manning every port, every jetty, every inch of the harbour. The red-headed man was made, amongst loud complaints and ignored shouted requests for information or even a reason as to why, to open up every single crate he carried, from the smallest to the very largest. Every one, the crown soldiers searched, tipping it upside down, shaking out any contents that may have been inside. The red-headed man protested bitterly-only to be hit sharply by the helmeted crown soldier.

Selwyn swallowed. There was a dreadful feeling in his stomach.

All around in the crowd, the crown soldiers searched. They peered at faces, stopping carts to search them, whipping off blankets, spilling wares onto the ground…and pulling down the hoods of cloaks to look at men's faces.

Selwyn grabbed Maggie's arm, taking her backwards into the shadows. Ser Owaiyn dutifully followed, hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

"Eh?" She blinked up at him, surprised. "What's wrong?"

Selwyn breathed fast. He looked out at the crowd, being raked through by crown soldiers with swords and armour, each of them searching for the most recognisable man in Westeros. "They're on high alert. The queen. She must know Jaime is missing."

Maggie's face fell into pure terror…but quickly, it straightened out. She looked out at the crowd, noticing the crown soldiers warily. But still, she tried to look brave. "I could go by meself. A random lowborn woman-even if they stopped me, what would they find?"

Selwyn gritted his teeth. He felt a wave of admiration for her bravery. "Thank you. But the queen will never stand down her troops until Jaime is found. There is no way we can get him through this harbour. Or Brienne. She lived here-one of those men is bound to recognise her…" He shook his head, turning back to Maggie. "Thank the gods we didn't bring Jaime and Brienne...but we will never be able to sail..."

There was a short silence. The noise in the docks grew louder as another ship pulled in.

"What now, my lord?" Ser Owaiyn asked, still clutching the hilt of his sword.

Selwyn shook his head again, running a hand through his beard. "I don't know." He looked out at the crowd, the ship, the skies. "I don't know..."


	47. Chapter 47

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! It means so much, honestly so much love to all of you and I hope you are all well and happy!**

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 **Thank you! See you soon xxx**

* * *

Jaime sat as still as he could, leant against the wall, trying not to even breathe too hard, as Brienne had fallen asleep in his arms. She had fallen asleep so quickly-tiredness had taken over all at once, and now she slept on his chest. It was so strange-Brienne was always so alert all the time, even to the point of obsession. Jaime thought of their time on the road, so many years ago, when he had been her prisoner. She'd walk in silence for an entire day, no matter how little she'd slept, blocking out how he'd tried to goad her-and yet still noticing every hint of danger, always aware of every single thing around them. And yet now, in the most dangerous situation of their lives, she slept so peacefully. Jaime smiled sadly-thank the gods he was not a woman. She must be so exhausted.

He still kept having to remind himself that this was real, and Brienne was alive, warm in his arms. It felt crazy to be sat here, in the backstreets of Kings Landing, only a few miles from the Red Keep and Cersei, and to feel so calm. They would not be here long, after all. He could not wait to get onto that ship, the ship to Tarth, the Sapphire Isle. He had never set foot there, only sailed past it on the way to Dorne, when he had journeyed on that doomed mission to rescue Myrcella. He remembered looking out from the merchant ship, thinking they were passing Estermont. But it had been Tarth, surrounded by perfect blue waters, green-covered mountains. Most of all he remembered the strange, pulling feeling in his heart, as if the isle itself was magnetic, drawing him in…

And now he would see it close. He smiled-his child's first breath would be clean, healthy sea air in Evenfall Hall, so far away from the filth of the capital. It meant the world to Jaime that his child, once unknowing usurper to the Iron Throne and the centre of the Northern cause, would be born miles and a sea apart from anyone who would hurt him. It was not quite the safety and anonymity of Pentos, of which he had once thought so wistfully-but it was perhaps the next best thing. The skies would be clear, an oasis before the frequent, violent storms of Shipbreaker Bay, and his child would know them above his head, the grass beneath his feet, the thousands of trees and the rocks, the mountains and the sapphire sea...

Jaime held Brienne as tightly as he could without waking her. He looked down at her belly, his child growing so fast. Their baby was no more than a month from their arms. He could not believe how much he had missed in the near month they had been separated. He knew how fast children grew, how bittersweet it seemed. Joffrey had been such a jolly little fellow as a baby. Jaime had been surprised at how quickly he seemed to grow, how one moment he lay helplessly in Cersei's arms, and then Jaime scarcely seemed to blink, before Joff was stumbling on his chubby little legs around the gardens of the Red Keep-then he blinked again, and suddenly Joff was running, riding, learning to swing a sword…Since the façade had to be kept up that Joff was Robert Baratheon's child, Jaime had kept his physical and emotional distance-but he could not help himself. One moment Myrcella was singing pretty rhymes and playing with dolls, and then she was shipped off to be married to a stranger. One moment Tommen happily chased his cat Ser Pounce around the corridors for hours-and then out of the blue, he was king.

Jaime sighed. He-

Suddenly-the locks rattled at the door. Jaime's head snapped up. Automatically, he reached across to grab Oathkeeper from where it lay beside Brienne-but Brienne beat him to it. Without even opening her eyes, she grabbed her sword, suddenly fully awake, sitting up from Jaime and looking straight at the door. She half-pulled it out of the scabbard, her face set. Frantically, Jaime debated whether to take the sword from her, knowing that even his left hand could defend her better now, wondering whether now was the time to defend her-

But when the door swung open, it was Selwyn, followed by an anxious-looking Maggie. Jaime let out a loud sigh of relief-then his stomach tightened again as he saw their faces. He carefully helped Brienne to her feet, noticing the deep creases in Selwyn's brow. "What happened?"

"The crown soldiers have taken over the harbour," said Selwyn, rubbing his beard worriedly. Jaime felt Brienne tense. "They are searching every ship, every man, everything. We could never get you out."

Jaime felt as if his insides had turned to stone. He looked straight at Selwyn. "Looking for me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Yes, for you," said Selwyn distractedly, beginning to pace. "I don't know what to do. Every way a man could leave the capital has been blocked. I thought about trying to cross the Kingswood to the Stormlands, but there are soldiers everywhere. We would never make it… _gods_ …" He buried his face in his hands, then looked up at his daughter. "I'm sorry, little bird."

"Now, there's no need f'this." Maggie said bravely, stepping forward. She hesitated for a moment, before gently placing a comforting hand on Selwyn's back. "There _has_ to be another way."

Jaime looked at his wife. Her face, so peaceful as she slept, was now pale, her eyes filled with fear.

He could not believe how _stupid_ he had been. He remembered Cersei's wishes-to find him in her chamber the previous evening. Of course when he had not showed, Cersei would turn the city upside-down to find him. She would not stop until he was found. She would seal every gate, stop every ship, go through every street, every building, and kill anyone who stood in her way until she had got him back…there would be carnage in the morning. So many deaths…men, women…children.

Jaime looked back at Brienne, his hand still on her shoulder. Only that morning he had thought her dead, thought his child dead-and now he would do anything in his power to keep them safe, for he knew that there was no way he could lose them again. He thought of Tarth, of its safety, of the clean air he so wanted his child to breathe, for him to be born so far from the capital, so far from danger…

Jaime's jaw clenched. It physically hurt him…he held Brienne's shoulder tighter, like a lifeline. But he knew what he had to do.

"I will hand myself in."

Silence.

Brienne turned to him, jerking her shoulder from his grip. Suddenly, her eyes had filled with blue flames. "Are you _insane_?" she demanded.

"It's the only way," Jaime's throat felt tight, as if trying to stop the words he was forcing himself to say. But he had to stand his ground. "It's the only way to make Cersei stand down her men, so that you and the baby can escape to Tarth, where it safe."

" _No_!"

"I don't have a choice," Jaime took her shaking hands in his, every ounce of his strength to keep his voice calm. He made himself meet her eyes. "I don't want to leave you, you know I don't want to. You know that it will destroy me to be apart from you again….But-I have to put the child first. If knowing he is safe on Tarth means that I have to go back to the Red Keep, then so be it." He held tighter, the words almost finishing him-but he had to go on. "I am his father, and it is my job to keep him safe, no matter what. I have to do this."

Brienne was silent now. She looked at him, tears beginning to fill her desperate eyes.

"Jaime," Selwyn stepped forward, trying to stay calm-and failing. "This is _madness!_ -the queen-!"

"This is the only way we have," Jaime tore his eyes from his wife to look at his father-by-law. "I know it's awful. But if it meant keeping Brienne safe, would you not do anything at all, no matter what it was, if it meant saving her?"

Selwyn looked pained-but the answer was clear. Nonetheless, he tried desperately. "You barely managed to escape the Red Keep today. Cersei will treble security once you are back. It will be almost impossible for you to leave again. You would be trapped-"

"I will come back to you," Jaime looked back at Brienne, his eyes now more serious than ever. "I swear it, by the old gods and the new, whatever it takes, however long, I will come back to you somehow."

Brienne looked as if she had no words. But tears had begun to spill down her cheeks. It broke Jaime's heart-but he had to carry on. "I _will_. I swear it. Just promise me that you will go back to Tarth the moment the soldiers stand down. Don't worry about me-I will survive. I have a reason now." He leaned in and kissed her, so gently, and yet so desperately, wiping away her tears with his good hand. "You must be strong. You are the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. I know you can do this, my love. You must be strong for the child." He gently stroked her belly, his heart in burning agony as he thought of leaving him.

Again, Brienne could not speak. But he could see, in her astonishing blue eyes, that she understood.

Reluctantly, Jaime turned from her. He walked over to Selwyn, who had similar grim understanding in his lined face. "Keep them safe."

"With my life." said Selwyn. He took Jaime's shoulders, gripping hard, looking down at him sternly. "You come back soon, and you keep yourself safe-and _alive_. Do you hear me?"

"Yes." Jaime looked back up at him. The fatherly gaze, the firm protectiveness almost broke him down. But he had to carry on. "Thank you. For everything. I will see you soon."

"You had better." The ghost of a smile crossed Selwyn's face, but his eyes were sad. "Gods protect you, son." he murmured, before Jaime forced himself to turn from him. His heart heavier than it had ever felt before, he turned back to his wife.

" _I love you_." was all he could say as he kissed her a final time. It took all of his strength to break it. He looked at her desperately, as if he could never tear his eyes away. To have her in his arms again after thinking her dead, for such a short time, seemed almost too cruel. But he would see her again. He prayed he would see her again.

" _Don't do anything stupid_." Brienne managed to whisper to him.

Jaime gave a weak laugh, holding back his own tears fiercely. "Or you, my love." He bent down, his hands around her waist, and kissed her swollen belly, his heart all but broken. He had so hoped to see his child come into the world. "Make sure…make sure he knows how much his father loves him…"

It was too much. Jaime turned sharply from her, reluctantly picking up his golden hand from the floor. He got to his feet, and shared a final, long look with his wife, in desperate agony, not knowing how long it would be before he saw her again…before marching quickly to the door, banging it shut behind him.

* * *

Brienne breathed out hard as Jaime left. She felt as if she had disappeared completely.

"Oh…" Maggie rushed to her side, hugging her comfortingly. Gently, she guided her over to the chair, sitting her down carefully. "I'm so sorry, dear. How dreadful…" she said, without really understanding the danger Jaime had just put himself in.

Brienne was beyond speaking.

Selwyn watched Jaime go through the window, as he pulled his black cloak low over his face and vanished into the shadows. "It's not two hours until dawn," he said, his voice very thick. "Perhaps the harbour will be clear by then…"

Brienne said nothing…but now…

Something had happened. Something was passing through her, starting at her lower back, a strange, cramping sensation…something _painful_. Something so deep, something she had never felt the like of before. It was…but...it was gone as quickly as it came.

"M'lady?" Maggie looked up at her, frowning. "Are y'alright?"

Brienne looked up. "Y-yes." she said, shaken. "It's-it's nothing."

* * *

Across the sea.

Something was coming. Every bird, every fish, every creature on land, in the air and on the sea knew that something was coming. It had infiltrated the depths of the very earth, the very sky. The waves waited, the rocks they broke upon waited. Everywhere, the very fibres of the world shook with anticipation as it waited and waited and waited for something singular and earth-shaking to happen.

One person did not wait.

Her dress was scarlet. Her boots were black. Her hair, carefully braided like the Dothraki riders, was silver-blonde, her eyes violet flames like nothing on Earth.

The queen walked forward, dragon banners flying around her once again. She drank in the salty smell of Dragonstone in the darkness of the early hours of the morning, the place of her birth. It seemed appropriate that her new life, her new world, would begin there. It was cold-she missed the warmth of Essos, of Meereen-but that did not matter now. She could not think about anything but what was to come. What the day would bring-or what she would bring _it_.

Daenerys turned to Messandei, who stood behind her to her left, looking straight back at her. She looked at Grey Worm, clad in full armour, to her right. And behind them, a sword in one hand, and axe in the other, the Kraken sigil blazoned onto her breastplate-Yara Greyjoy.

She looked back out to sea, her ships readied, her enormous army of Unsullied, Second Sons and Dothraki, just waiting for her order. She looked beyond, imagining Westeros, Kings Landing, where she knew Tyrion Lannister, her hand, waited with the force he had assembled, ready to join her as she landed, to take back her Iron Throne and her kingdom. The last thing she had to conquer, rightfully hers once again. But she was far too wise to feel satisfied yet…

" _Bring me the city_."

High above her head, a dragon screeched.


	48. Chapter 48

**Hello everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the world, thank you so much! More tomorrow xxx**

* * *

"Fucking hell it's hot," Bronn wiped the sweat from his forehead as he took a long drink of ale. He cracked his neck left and right, before passing the mug to Podrick, who drank deeply, gagging a little in his haste. Behind them, the noises of an army preparing for battle. Horses whinnied, armour clanked, men shouted to one another.

"If this is hot, Winterfell in its current state could be described as "pleasantly cool for early spring"." Tyrion stared up at the sky at the head of their camp, staring out to sea. Still, the early morning sun had not rose, and there were nothing but clouds to be seen on the horizon. No sign yet of his cue to act.

"Well, after months up there freezing me arse off, anywhere vaguely South is going to feel like Dorne," Bronn said lightly. He yawned, rubbing his back and grimacing. "I'll be gutted to sit this one out. Bloody septon…"

"Oh, you won't be sitting it out…I've a nice, cushy job for you to do." Tyrion did not look away from the horizon. He watched, waiting.

"Oh yeah?" Bronn looked up. "What's that, then?"

Tyrion coughed a little. "You…and Ser Podrick here…will be protecting me. Just like old times, hey?"

Bronn laughed. "Wouldn't call that cushy. Your sister wants your head. She'll take mine if I stop her getting it." He stretched lazily. "My near-death experience has given me a new appreciation for life. I shan't be throwing it away for just anyone, you know?"

"If we survive, I'll double your pay."

"Done." Bronn grinned. He stood up, stretching his legs. "I'm not as quick as I used to be, you know?"

"No…nor I," Pod piped up, rubbing his wounds from Denys' attack, months ago at Winterfell. He looked at Bronn, a small smile around his mouth. "Not that I was ever anything like as good as Ser Bronn was..."

"Alright there!" Bronn chuckled. "Trying to work up to showing me that magic cock of yours after the battle? Take more than flattery, it will. You can start buying the ale first." He shoved Pod playfully.

"It won't matter how good either of you are," said Tyrion levelly. He watched the skies carefully. "You are simply a precaution. Trust me…" He took a deep breath. "No man will be coming anywhere near me when we enter Kings Landing…"

Tyrion thought of the capital, a mere few miles from where he waited. He thought of everything he had left there the last time he had seen it, sailing away in that fucking box to Pentos. The Red Keep, the Sept when it had stood, the wine, the whores, the gardens…Shae. He shook his head hard. He could not think of her now. Besides…she was dead. He had killed her with his own hands…

There were only two people in the capital he cared about now. There was Jaime, rumours of his suicide now quelled. Jaime had been a golden boy almost all of his life, but he, to Tyrion's immeasurable relief, had proved to be terrible at killing himself. Tyrion felt a sinking feeling in his stomach which had everything to do with guilt-he knew why Jaime had tried, and he hated himself for not managing to get word of Lady Brienne's survival to him-where the woman was now being anyone's guess. But he could not think of her now either, or the nephew of his she carried. He hoped they had managed to find safety somehow-but now was not the time.

He knew where Jaime was, though. He knew where Jaime had been repeatedly seen, confirmed by their newest informant in the capital…on the battlements of the Red Keep…in the arms of the only other person in the capital that Tyrion was interested in…Their new informant had been reluctant to look at them, which was understandable considering the circumstances, but he had managed to describe them as "lovers".

Tyrion gritted his teeth. He did not know what to think. He wanted to think that Jaime was being made to play his part, forced by their tyrannical sister…but he had seen Jaime and Cersei together for all of their lives. Even as he had watched Jaime determined to marry another woman, loving her so desperately, so entirely-Tyrion could not help thinking of Cersei. He knew that loving someone as Jaime had loved his sister almost never just completely disappeared. He did not doubt that Jaime loved Lady Brienne…but, in the shock of believing he had lost his wife and child…Cersei's arms may have seemed like a haven to Jaime. Tyrion wasn't sure-Cersei had been the one to order the deaths of Brienne and her child…but the woman was so manipulative, so good at playing the game, especially with Jaime…he did not know. He simply did not know.

But, when the battle came, if Jaime sided with Cersei…he was Tyrion's enemy.

Tyrion watched the sky. He waited.

Perhaps their new informant would have gathered some more information before the time came. He allowed himself to think fondly of him for a second-of the walking wounded Bronn and Pod, of Jon Snow. He had always had a soft spot for cripples, bastards and broken things…

Finally…there was fire on the horizon.

* * *

"What do you see?" Jon asked calmly.

"You should let him sleep!" Meera Reed protested, crouched, her fingers gripping the sides of the cart, which had been parked in a tent near the back of the army, as far away from Kings Landing as was possible. "Besides, he can't answer you now..."

In the cart, there lay a boy with snow-white skin and a mop of dark hair. His body was unusual, the legs thin and strange…but his eyes were wide open. Except there were no eyes. Just whiteness. Bran Stark was watching something that no other man could. He was flying, miles and miles away…

Finally…the colour rolled back into his eyes. He blinked a few times-before his eyes came to meet Jon's. "…I saw soldiers in the harbours. On every gate. But they're searching those coming _out_ , not those coming in. We can get men in before dawn to make ready the plans. It-it shouldn't be too difficult."

Jon nodded. "Thank you, Bran. I know this isn't your fight." He reached out and patted his shoulder gently, as if Bran was very fragile. He looked so terribly breakable. "I know this is hard on you..."

"It's alright," said Bran bravely, getting his breath back. He had a strange, far-away look in his eyes. "This is supposed to be."

Jon did not quite understand. He didn't really understand much Bran had told him since he had been dragged into Winterfell by Meera Reed only days before they had left for the capital. Jon had half believed his little brother dead, and there had been great joy when he had arrived-but Bran's pinched, pale face had remained deadly serious. He had spoken of…such things. Jon swallowed hard.

"We must return to Winterfell soon." said Bran, his new seriousness still strange on his painfully young face. "To the North. It can't wait much longer."

"We will," said Jon, squeezing Bran's shoulder. "Sansa is waiting for us."

Bran gave a small smile. "I know."

"We'll do it," said Jon determinedly. He had not taken his hand from Bran's shoulder. "We'll fight. Together. As a family."

Bran nodded-but he looked sad. "Almost…"

Jon felt a tugging in his chest. But he clenched his jaw. "Almost…but _we_ are together now. Sansa is in Winterfell, where she belongs. Where _we_ belong." He leaned forward and hugged Bran close, but carefully. "You've been so brave, Bran. Your mother would be so proud of you. And Father would be so proud of you…"

He felt Bran squirm a little in his arms…but there was something wrong. "Jon…"

" _Our_ father," said Jon firmly, his heart aching, horrible coldness in his stomach …but he looked straight into Bran's eyes. "Eddard Stark raised, protected and loved us both. He is and always will be _our_ father. You are my brother, just the same as Robb and Rickon were, and Sansa and Arya are my sisters. No…matter what." he finished, firmly.

Bran looked torn. "Jon…it's all meant to be…you have to know that-"

"Eddard Stark is my father," said Jon again, feeling vaguely sick. "I want to fight today for _him_ , for everything he stood for. We are finishing what he started. He died for the sake of honour, for the sake of the truth-the Lannisters have no right to that throne. Cersei Lannister is-"

"I know _exactly_ what she is!" Bran snapped, his voice suddenly cold. "She is the reason I was crippled. Even if you have forgotten, I definitely haven't."

Jon felt a pang. He was not used to seeing such an old look in Bran's eyes. "I know…I'm sorry-"

"This is not about her," said Bran, louder, as clear as a bell. "She doesn't matter. The Lannisters don't matter. But _you_ matter, Jon. You have to survive this so we can go back to the North-the _real_ north. That's why you _have_ to-"

Jon's jaw clenched. "I know, Bran. I know." He looked out to the flap of the tent, out to the sounds of the readying army beyond. "But not today. Today I must defeat Cersei-for _father_. Tomorrow…you can tell me everything. Bran. About the First Men and the Children, three-eyed ravens, the Others…and…the other things. The-the _dragons_."

* * *

Jaime ducked through the shadows, moving slowly. He was in no mood to be manhandled by soldiers back to the Red Keep. If he was going back to Cersei…he wanted to at least retain his dignity. Additionally, he could not be seen coming from a specific place in the city, otherwise he might lead Cersei's men straight to Brienne before she could escape. His brain was whirring with potential excuses to present to the queen as to where he had been to avoid suspicion-though he could not think of a single one which would fool his sister.

Cersei…he remembered her orders, what she wanted of him…the thought of lying with her when he believed himself widowed was bad enough, but now he had a living wife it did not bear thinking about. He had to find some way to make sure it never happened, no matter how she forced him. It would destroy him to hurt Brienne that way. Being apart from her was torment enough without Cersei's torture…But he had to bear it. He had to get through it somehow, to keep his child safe. He thought wistfully of Tarth, so far away from the capital, the trees so green, the waters so blue…if his child was safe, well, and loved, he had done his duty as a father, no matter what the cost was to him.

Suddenly-the sound of horses' hooves on the cobbles. Two horses, one black and one dark brown, walked carefully down the street. Atop them, two soldiers, both cloaked, sat upright and confident, staring straight ahead. On the back of one of the horses, strapped to the smaller of the soldiers, was a wooden box-by the look of the way the soldier was carrying it, it looked quite heavy. Though they looked official, they did not look as if they were looking for violence-but Jaime was not about to take any chances.

He shrunk back against the wall, barely breathing, shrugging his black cloak further down over his face. He hoped he blended well into the shadows. As the horse-backed soldiers neared him, he frowned at their cloaks. They did not wear the gold of the city watch. Their cloaks were plain brown-and their hoods were firmly up, casting shadow over their faces.

Perhaps Cersei had introduced a kind of undercover watch-perhaps to look specifically for him without drawing attention to themselves. Jaime shrunk harder against the wall-when suddenly-the horse carrying the smaller soldier with the box on his back stumbled straight towards him. The horse neighed in protest, while the soldier fumbled with the reins. "Whoa!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" the other soldier called. Jaime jumped-his voice was familiar. So was the cry of the stumbling solider. "Who the fuck knighted _you_ , yer useless sack of shite."

"Sorry!" came the voice of the stumbling man. He could not seem to regain control of his horse, stumbling further and further towards Jaime, hiding in the shadows. The box on his back seemed to be making it rather difficult. The man's horse did not want to cooperate, fighting against his desperate tugs on the reins. "All under control!" the rider called back desperately, turning his head this way and that-before-

"Hold on!" the man gasped. "There's someone here!"

"Oh, tits. Just what we need…" The other man slid off his horse, leading it over to where Jaime stood in the shadows, drawing his sword. He looked straight at him, his sword pointed at his chest. "Enjoying your lurking there, fellow? Want to move along before I poke you so full of holes whoever finds your body can fuck whatever bit of you he likes?"

"I'd like to see you try, Bronn," Jaime carefully raised his hood to reveal his face.

Bronn was so surprised that he dropped the reins of his horse, who trotted a few feet away to nibble on some moss growing up from the street. Likewise-Pod, still struggling with his own horse, audibly gasped.

"It can't be _Jaime fucking Lannister_?" Bronn exclaimed much too loudly.

"Shhh! For the sake of the gods, man!" Jaime shushed him desperately-but he could not help but smile. "It's good to see you, Bronn. Thought you might have died at the wedding…"

"Nah. Take more than a septon to finish me off," Bronn's eyes were shining as he shook Jaime's hand. "Heard you'd finished _yourself_ off. I'm glad you were so crap at killing yourself-had me worried for a minute, you did."

"Awwh, would you have missed me?" Jaime could not help but grin.

"Nah. Worried I'd lose the week's gold." Bronn slapped Jaime's shoulder-but now, there was a pity in his sparkling eyes, dulling them. "Good to see you too…I'm really sorry, friend. It must be horrible for you." He kept his hand on Jaime's shoulder, more sincere than he'd ever seen him. "Wish I could have done something about it. Fucking terrible thing."

Pod managed to slide off his horse, leaving the box on the floor behind him as he hurried to see Jaime. "I-I'm so sorry…" he said, sounding both breathless and devastated, his head cast down. "So glad you're alive though, Ser Jaime. I-I mourned her. Bitterly. We all did." he said bravely.

Jaime was quite overwhelmed. But he could not bear to leave them so. "She lived."

There was a short silence.

" _What_?" Pod's eyes were as round as the moon.

"Fucking _knew_ it!" Bronn's grin spread wider, punching Jaime on the arm in relief. "She's a tough lady, your wife. Take more than an army to finish her off. Gods, what a turn-up. Indestructible, the two of you. Hard to kill, you Lannisters, ain't you? But imagine escaping Winterfell in that state-and that fucking knocked up on top of it…" Bronn breathed out hard-then winked at Jaime. "Just saying, if she weren't already married to you, I'd-"

"My-my lady? She's _alive_?" Pod looked as if he did not dare to believe it. "And-and the-?" He made a round gesture around his belly.

"The child is fine." said Jaime, trying desperately to keep them quiet.

"Where is she?" asked Pod, looking around as if she might appear at any moment.

"She's-hidden…" Jaime said, carefully.

"Jaime." came a voice from the box, muffled by the wood. "Where is she?"

Jaime jumped a mile. The voice that came from the box on the floor was one he had known almost his entire life. He crouched down towards the wooden box, hardly daring to believe it. Gently, he touched the corner. "Brother?"

"Brother." Tyrion greeted him from inside the box. "You cannot imagine my relief at finding you well. I would say all in one piece, but I do believe that that would be a somewhat inappropriate choice of phrase, given your missing hand."

"You're in _there_?" Jaime blinked-the box was small, seeming too small even to contain Tyrion.

"Believe me, I am getting better acquainted with my knees than I have ever been before," muttered Tyrion, his voice deadly serious. "It doesn't matter. You didn't answer my question. After that, I need you to answer this one. Where are you going?"

Jaime grimaced. "She is safe. And…I am ensuring the continuation of that. By-by handing myself in to Cersei."

Tyrion coughed. "Why, in the name of every fucking god there is, are you doing that?"

"I _have_ to do it so that Cersei will-"

"That was a rhetorical question," Tyrion said shortly, cutting him off. "The point is, you aren't on her side."

"Of course not!" Jaime hissed, outraged. "She is my sister, but she tried to kill my _child_ -!"

"So you're on ours?"

Jaime paused. He looked from the box, to Bronn, to Pod. Each of them had a strange look on their faces. "Why are you all here. What is going on?" He looked at the box expectantly, though he knew Tyrion could not see him.

"It's happening, brother," said Tyrion, his voice taking on a note of pride. "Queen Daenerys is sailing towards us as I speak. She is bringing an army of Unsullied, Second Sons, Dothraki, anything you like. And not a mile from the city, Jon Snow waits with _his_ army. We mean to put the rightful queen on the Iron Throne by nightfall."

Jaime drank all of this in. He breathed hard. "Today?"

"Right now." said Tyrion firmly. "The point is-you can help us. I am here with Pod and Bronn to set my plans into motion. You must have lived in the Red Keep for a week or more-you must know some of what Cersei has done in order to defend the city in case of an attack like this. If you would just come with-"

"Wait," said Jaime. He took a step backwards, half-thinking aloud. "If you are saying that Cersei will no longer be queen by the end of today…that means Brienne will be safe to sail to Tarth by tomorrow. I-I'm going back to her-"

"Stop!" Tyrion called desperately. "Jaime! We _need_ you! Bran Stark can look through windows, but you can walk through doors in there! For the sake of the gods, we could end this with half the deaths if you just help me!" He sighed impatiently, trying to keep his voice calm. "Jaime, please. For the sake of our mother. For the sake of the realm. If Brienne is safe, she can wait. Come with us. I can send Podrick or Bronn to her if you are concerned. But _I need you_."

Jaime looked up from the box. He looked up at the sky, imagining dragons filling it above his head. "Bran Stark? Ned Stark's son? He's _here_?" There was a lunge of guilt in his stomach as he imagined the dark-haired child falling, falling, falling...

"Everyone is here, Jaime. Today is the day of days."

Jaime thought hard, looking down at the box. He thought of the little lord Bran again, the child he had crippled...Then…he sighed heavily. He looked between Bronn and Pod, quietly sizing them up, wanting to send the strongest, the best. "Bronn goes to my wife. Pod and I will take you wherever you need to go. And I-I will do my duty by you. And-and your queen."

* * *

Brienne sat anxiously, watching the door for news. Her father, currently having stationed himself outside to keep watch himself, had sent Ser Owaiyn to watch the harbour, waiting for the crown soldiers to clear so that she could sail away from the capital-and away from her husband. She felt as if her heart had torn completely in half, half desperate beyond anything to get her child as far away from the capital as possible, half racked with horror at leaving Jaime here with Cersei. She could not believe how easily he had sacrificed himself, how determined he was to protect their baby-she had loved him more than ever as he had disappeared through the door, and it broke her heart completely.

But she would see him again.

She prayed she would see him again...

"Alright?" Maggie sat on the floor beside her, looking up at her with large, anxious eyes.

Slowly, Brienne shook her head.

"Oh, dear…" Maggie leaned her head in Brienne's lap. It was so warm and comforting. "So sorry…"

Suddenly-Brienne doubled over. The pain had come again. It felt like nothing else, from a place so deep inside her…but again, it lasted only long seconds. Slowly, she straightened up, breathing deeply. She realised that her hands had wrapped themselves around her belly. Cold fingers of fear had begun to close around her heart…

"M'lady?" Maggie sprung to her feet far faster than should have been possible. "What's wrong?"

Brienne did not answer. In her heart, she knew perfectly well what was beginning. Something inside her knew. No. No. Not now. Not here. It couldn't happen now. It was too soon. It _couldn'_ t be happening now…

But Maggie knew better. She fixed Brienne with an incredibly serious look. "M'lady?"

Brienne met her eyes. "I-I don't know…"

"Yes you do," said Maggie, firmly. "Is it the baby?"

Brienne's whole body turned icy cold. She could not bear to look at her companion as her mind was fixed only on one thing. "It's-it's too soon…" she said, in her voice, a tremble of pure fear. "Maggie, it's too soon…"

Maggie's own eyes widened in shock-but very quickly, she managed to make it calm. "It mightn't be happening now, m'lady. Sometimes, mothers feel pains long before their time comes. Don't worry." She put a comforting hand on Brienne's back, moving it in slow circles. "Don't get y'self all knotted up. Try to relax, dear."

Brienne tried to be comforted. But something inside her told her that she should not, that she had every reason to be scared, that this was no false alarm…she breathed evenly, as normally as she could. Maggie knew so much more about these things than she did. Perhaps Maggie was right after all. Perhaps she was getting worked up over nothing.

…

An hour and two more bursts of pain later…Maggie was not so sure. Brienne simply could not fathom it-she had been wounded so many times and in every way under the sun, and yet this pain was nothing like any of them. It was such a confusing feeling-and that made it far harder to bear than even the worst battlefield injuries. Her head spun with it as it consumed her entirely.

"There now, dear," said Maggie, her voice some comfort, rubbing her back in slow circles. She slowly led Brienne, walking her gently around the small, plain room. Brienne simply followed, unable to think to do anything but follow her. "Now, you need to stay calm. Everything's going to be alright."

Brienne could not believe her. None of this seemed real-the pain, the cold fear, they were undeniable-but the idea that her baby, Jaime's baby, had chosen this moment, weeks before his time in the most dangerous city in the world…it seemed too dreadful to be possible. She felt Jaime's cloak around her shoulders…he should be here. She needed him. Now more than ever.

The locks on the door rattled. Brienne jumped-Oathkeeper was all the way on the other side of the room-but only Selwyn's face appeared at the door, grey, lined and familiar. He looked taken aback when he saw the faces of the two women in the room. "Who died?" he asked, trying to smile.

Brienne looked at the old lord, holding onto Maggie tightly. Her eyes met her father's…and she did not have to say a word.

" _Gods_ …" Selwyn's face filled with horror. "Not now?" He looked desperately as Maggie. " _Surely_ not now?"

"It'll be hours yet," said Maggie grimly. "Always much longer the first time. But yes."

Brienne felt as if she had been punched through the heart with a fist of ice.

Selwyn swore loudly. He paused for a moment, processing the news-then marched up to his daughter, taking her in his arms, seeing the whiteness of her face, the fear in her eyes. "Oh, little bird…haven't half picked your moment… but it's going to be alright." He kissed her forehead, as he always did-but she could tell it was as filled with dread as she was. "Everything is going to be alright…"

He held her a little too tightly for his words to ring true.


	49. Chapter 49

**Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the world, please continue to do so! More tomorrow, much love xxx**

* * *

Jaime took a deep breath, then slipped down the hood of his cloak. He stepped out of the shadows, his head held high, striding straight to the gates of the Red Keep. He drew himself up to full height, running his false, golden hand across his chest so that a person could not miss it. He smiled. He was every inch, arrogantly, unmistakably-

"The Kingslayer!" Every guard at the gate rushed forward, crowding him.

"Evening, men," said Jaime casually. Some of the guards raised their swords-before another guard screamed at them to put them down, for the queen would have their heads if her brother was hurt. There was a short, hissed argument over whether to keep their weapons raised to ensure that the Kingslayer did not escape again, or to drop them. Sighing, Jaime drew himself up to full height. "I am Her Grace's brother. You will lower your weapons or my dear sister will hear which of you disobeyed me."

Instantly, each man dropped his sword-before Bronn and Pod sprung upon them from behind. Jaime swooped down and grabbed a sword from the ground. It was heavy, as his physical strength was still not quite restored-but the thought of Brienne and their child filled him with power, and he fought as best he could with his left hand, blocking blows with his golden right. It did not take long for the three of them to take down the guards.

"Right," Bronn breathed out heavily. "Fuck, I'm not as young as I used to be…"

"What now?" Pod asked, strapping the box containing Tyrion, who was carefully silent, onto his back.

Jaime turned to Bronn, knowing that there was not much time. He marched up to him and hissed the name of the street on which Brienne hid straight into his ear, so that no one else could possibly hear. "You go to her and you tell her not to move yet. Then, you protect her until all this is over-make sure no one gets near that building."

"Put on one of their cloaks, so that you camouflage into the crown army!" Pod piped up, pointing at one of the dead men on the floor.

"Ah, Pod, you're a fucking genius," Jaime quickly rubbed his hair. "Bronn, go quickly."

"Of course," Bronn winked at him, wrapping the stolen cloak around his shoulders. "Don't worry."

"You're an idiot if you think I won't worry about my pregnant wife currently hiding in a city under attack." Jaime sighed manfully, trying not to show that his heart gone cold at the thought. He looked up at the Red Keep, hardly believing, after wanting nothing more than to escape it forever, he was about to walk willingly back in with his brother, a man more wanted than any in the Seven Kingdoms. It simply reeked of danger. He almost smiled-why did his family always seem to swing from one perilous situation to another? He hoped the baby would not inherit his parents' talent for trouble, or always turning up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Give my lady my best!" called Pod as he struggled with Tyrion. "Tell her I prayed for her every night, and I missed her horribly, and-"

"Alright, I get the picture," said Bronn, cracking his neck again. "I'll tell her you said hi, shall I?"

"Bronn," Jaime said, turning back to the sellsword. "You keep her safe, do you hear me?"

"No problem," said Bronn casually-but he looked serious. "I'll do everything you would do."

"Good."

"Including shag her."

Jaime rolled his eyes-but he patted Bronn's shoulder before the sellsword disappeared into the early morning darkness. The first rays of sunlight were beginning to appear on the horizon, tinting the sky yellow-pink.

Jaime turned to Tyrion's box. "You're in charge, brother. You always were the clever one. Where to now?"

"Below." came Tyrion's muffled voice. "Below. In the depths of the castle, in the dungeons, in all the cellars and stores. If we see something green, and I have a feeling that we will…we make sure it will not be a problem for Her Grace when she arrives."

"And then?"

"Her Grace will arrive." said Tyrion simply. "Nothing else we do will matter after that. Trust me."

Jaime did not need to ask why. But there was something else bothering him. "What-what about Cersei?"

Tyrion said nothing.

Together, with a distinct feeling of ill-ease, the two brothers and Pod snuck into the Red Keep, unbeknownst to anyone inside, to begin their work.

* * *

Another hour passed

Selwyn was at a complete loss, torn both ways. Stood at the top of the stairs inside the building, just outside the door, his thoughts were only with his daughter. He knew that it was not proper for a male to be present at the childbed, unless that man was a maester. He had excused himself from the room, under the pretence of continuing to guard outside-but the thought of leaving his daughter in such a position was so awful that he could hardly bear it, not being beside her at the most difficult moment of her life... He had waited anxiously outside the chambers of his wife every time she had given birth, in his appropriate place. Her screams had scared the crap out of him as a young man, especially the first time with poor little Galladon. He had heard how agonising and bloody the business was, but never had it truly hit him until he had heard his own wife make those horrible sounds. Selwyn felt physically sick at the memory. He was not sure he could stand to listen to his own daughter scream like that.

Nothing yet. Selwyn could not help but listen as hard as he could, waiting for any kind of sound, good or bad. Not that he knew the difference. Thank the gods for Maggie. He had no idea what they would have done without her. There was no one else he could now envision trusting his daughter to when her time came. He had told her to bring him any news immediately, no matter what it was. If the worst happened-

"Who goes there?" shouted Ser Owaiyn from the bottom of the stairs.

"What, you don't know who I am?" came a sarcastic drawl. Selwyn jumped out of his skin at the familiarity. "Fucking hell, where have you been. I'm extremely noble and famous, you know."

"You'll move along, _Ser_ , before I separate your head from your body. You have no business here."

"I think you'll find I do. I-"

But Selwyn had already bolted down the stairs. There, just outside the building, stood the unmistakeable Ser Bronn.

"Lord Selwyn!" Bronn grinned, holding out a hand to him from behind the formidable Ser Owaiyn. "Long time no see, eh? Must have been the wedding. Quite good wasn't it-apart from the slight kerfuffle at dinner, wouldn't you say?"

"Ser Bronn," Selwyn greeted him grimly. "Stand aside, Ser Owaiyn-this man is welcome."

"I should think so too," Bronn said, striding forward lazily into the building. "Nice place. Not quite your usual digs though." He began to climb the stairs, uninvited. "Weird-usually when I walk into a building in this part of Kings Landing, there's a whore waiting for me. Imagine it's the same for you, eh, my lord? Remember that night out in the North-what was the name of that girl you had? Gods, she was a-"

"What are you doing here?" Selwyn demanded, chasing him up the stairs. "How did you find us? And you can't go up there!"

Bronn paused. "I assumed that's where you're hiding Lady Brienne. Jaime told me where you were. He sent me to guard her. I have to kind of be with her to do that."

"You were with Jaime?" Selwyn asked, surprised. "Where is he?"

"Chasing Wildfire in the Red Keep-always knows how to spend a lazy Saturday morning, does Jaime. He is with his brother, Lord Tyrion-hand of the Queen now, I think we call him. Well, if today all goes well."

"What do you mean, _today goes well_?"

"Gods, you're behind, aren't you?" said Bronn teasingly-before becoming serious. "The Dragon Queen is coming. She's going to take the city today. Jaime sent me back to tell his wife, your daughter, not to move yet, to wait. You won't be able to leave Kings Landing once the Queen's fleet arrives. You have to stay put until it all blows over, alright?"

Selwyn slowly absorbed this news. It wasn't like they would have been able to move anyway, given what had happened since Jaime had left. But the Queen was coming? The Queen Daenerys Tyrion had described, the Breaker of Chains and Mother of-

"You can't go up there!" Selwyn repeated, as Bronn took a few more steps towards the door.

"Why? She changing?" Bronn asked casually, ignoring him.

"No! It-" Selwyn swallowed, lowering his voice. "It is not proper for a man to be present when-when a woman's time is upon her…"

Bronn stopped in his tracks. He spun around on his heels back to Selwyn, staring at him for a moment, his eyes almost popping out of his head. He waited-then-he raised an eyebrow. "You _cannot_ be fucking serious?"

"Yes," said Selwyn, feeling vaguely ill himself. "She-she's-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Bronn slapped a hand to his forehead, laughing in a deranged kind of way. "This is all we fucking need, isn't it? Gods, you can tell the kid is half a Lannister-drama queens, the lot of them! Bloody drama queens, especially Jaime. Of _course_ this was going to happen today, wasn't it? Fucking Lannister drama queens-"

"Shhh!" Selwyn shushed him. "For the sake of the gods, man, keep your voice down!"

But Bronn, sighing impatiently, strode right over to the door, yanked it open, and marched inside.

Selwyn hesitated for a couple of second- _this was not proper, it was not proper_ …but he gritted his teeth and rushed in after him. What did it matter what _proper_ was? He could not just stand idly outside and not be with his daughter while she brought his grandchild into the world in this most dangerous city. His little bird needed him. Nothing else mattered. Not even the fact that a conquering queen approached the horizon, to take the city.

And with her…

* * *

The first was green and bronze. The second yellow and golden. The third-red and onyx. Their cries were beginning to reach the shores of Kings Landing, the fishermen in the harbour looking curiously over the horizon. It was a sound that had not been heard in Westeros for hundreds of years. No one even began to think of the truth of the source, for all of the dragon were gone. They were dead, they were gone, their eggs and their skulls turned to stone and dust by the ages.

But now, dragon wings spread across the skies once more, bringing with them fire and blood. And there was magic. Magic that had been gone from the skies, the earth and the waters of the Seven Kingdoms, began to wake up, blinking at the cold morning sun, now shining on tight, new scales, teeth and claws.

The red and onyx dragon flew slightly behind his siblings. For on his back-a woman, dressed in red and black, the wind whipping through her silver hair, flames in her violet eyes. Drogon carried his mother towards the horizon, where the skyline of Kings Landing was beginning to appear in the distance, almost in a hazy, dream-like state in the morning fog. Daenerys stared straight ahead. She thought of her ancestors-Aegon the Conqueror, his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys, from whom her brother's names had sprung, and in turn the names of her own children, her dragons. They had flown into Kings Landing, all those years ago, as she did now. She thought of Khal Drogo, her dead husband, for whom her last child was named, the dragon she rode as she was meant to. The three-headed dragon of her house sigil now had only she on its back. For she was the only dragon-rider now.

The capital drew ever closer. Daenerys held on tightly, her back straight, her legs strong. She could sense her fleet below her; all of the years of hardship, pain and work had brought them together for her, for this moment. And now, she flew as no other had for hundreds of years, the wind whipping her face raw, the screeches of her children in her ears. She was born to be a conqueror, to be a queen. In a moment of personal satisfaction, she wondered what her brother Viserys would say if he could see her now. The thought of the horror on his face brought a smile to her own, and she allowed herself to grin as Drogon carried her on and on over the waves, over the ships and the rocks, thought the skies and back to her throne.

But first...she would break the wheel. And there would be fire and blood.


	50. Chapter 50

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! It's so kind of you and I really appreciate it :) More tomorrow! Much love xxx**

* * *

Brienne made a long, low moan, like a dog dying slowly. She leaned against the wall, her eyes tightly shut, trying to breathe deeply like Maggie had told her, but finding it almost impossible to think of anything except her pain and dread.

"There now, m'lady," said Maggie when it had ended, gently rubbing her back. Her voice was gentle and soothing, as it had been when Brienne had first woken in her house after passing out in the snow. "You're doing so well, handling it."

"I-I'm not…" Brienne gasped as he breath began to return to her. "I…I…" She could not bring herself to admit even to Maggie how scared she was. She had thought, especially with Maggie, that she was prepared, that she could deal with it. Gods, she'd fought a bear, defeated the Hound-and yet it was now that she was more terrified than she had ever been before in her life. It was not for herself she feared, though of course she thought of her own mother's childbed death-it was her child, the child she and her husband had fought so hard for so long to protect…and now his safety was completely out of her hands.

"Now, don't start fretting now, dear," said Maggie, carefully beginning to walk her around the room again in a slow circle. "Stay calm."

Some time passed as she walked, very slowly, but surely. It seemed to help as the minutes whiled away…but-

"It's…too soon…"

"I know, it's a bit of a shock," said Maggie, determinedly positive. "But only by weeks, remember. Babies look so small and vulnerable-that's how Nature makes them, so's that we love and protect them. But we are always so busy protecting them that we forget they're built to survive."

Brienne tried to be comforted-but it was so difficult. "It wasn't…meant to be like this…"

"It never is, dear."

"Jaime…was supposed to be here…" She almost cried out again thinking of Jaime, now probably locked inside the Red Keep with Cersei. "He…he's not safe there, I know…I _know_ he's not-"

"There now!" Maggie's voice became more firm, more motherly than ever. "Y'lord can look after himself! One hand or not, he is perfectly capable-look at how tall he is, those muscles under his shirt an' his jaw, and his shoulders, an' his…" Maggie paused, distracted-then coughed, embarrassed. "I mean, he can quite clearly take care of himself! You can't be worrying about him now, y'need to worry about yourself for once."

Brienne nodded, knowing she was right-but she could not help thinking about him. She remembered his promise to hold her hand when this moment came… _there is no force in the world that could stop me from being there when our child is born_ …but now he was trapped in the Red Keep, with no idea what was happening. She had never imagined giving birth without him. And yet here she was…

Suddenly-the door swung open.

"Fuck…" came a familiar voice. "He wasn't wrong, your father."

Brienne's head jerked around to see Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, in full armour, wearing the cloak of a crown solider and an uncharacteristically serious expression. She jumped-there was no one she had less expected to see come through that door today. "Ser Bronn?" she greeted him, breathlessly, uncertainly.

"My lady," Bronn bowed quickly to her-then looked her up and down again. "You look like shit."

"What are you…doing here?" she managed.

"Well, I just ran into your husband," Bronn explained.

Brienne's heart leapt. "What? Where is he? What's happening?" she said-before having to lean on Maggie, breathing hard.

Bronn looked distinctly awkward at addressing a woman in this position. "He's safe, my lady. Don't-don't worry." he began kindly.

"Please…" Brienne panted. "Please… _don't_ …patronise me…just…tell me everything…"

"Oh, little bird…" Selwyn rushed into the room behind Bronn, hurrying to Brienne's side. He looked almost as out-of-place as Bronn-but he pushed through, taking her arm in his. He kissed her forehead again. "Just tell me to go if you want me to leave-but I couldn't stand to wait out there a moment longer. Oh, gods…I could not leave my little girl like this..." He hugged her close.

"Awh, here's dear old Daddy…" Bronn murmured, winking at Brienne. "What was that about not patronising you?"

"Shut…up…" Brienne managed to glare at him from over Selwyn's shoulder. "What is happening?"

"Short version? Dragon queen on her way. Lord Tyrion, Ser Pod-he says hello by the way-and now Jaime-making plans ready. Jon and his army about to start knocking on the gates of the city. And so-Jaime's sent me to tell you not to move tonight-not that you'd be able to anyway-but to wait until Daenerys has taken the city, and then you can all sail off into the sunset. Well-that's his plan anyway…"

Brienne took several deep breaths as she let the news sink in. "What plans?"

" _Dragons_?" Maggie's eyes suddenly filled with stars.

"Where is Jaime?" Brienne repeated, feeling her breath beginning to leave her, staring straight at Bronn…before, suddenly, she doubled over with pain again. It had returned, still just bearable, but the confusion of it, the intensity, the way it came from her very core and consumed her. She closed her eyes tightly…but this time, she could not help a whimper escaping…and then a moan…

"Shit!" Selwyn freaked, not knowing whether to hold her or run well back. He looked down at her, his eyes wide with panic. "Brienne?" He reached out a hand to her-then retracted it, truly at a complete loss.

"Let her breathe!" Maggie stepped in quickly, stepping in front of him and taking a step back, so that he had to as well. The old lord looked helplessly at his daughter, wanting nothing more than to help her, but not having the first idea how. It destroyed him to see her like this, and even more that he could do nothing for her…

When it was over, Brienne looked as if she had just come out of a fight. She breathed heavily, but tried desperately to keep them even and steady, as Maggie had told her. Slowly, she managed to look back up at Bronn, her eyes almost animalistic with pain and adrenaline. " _Where…is…Jaime_?"

Despite his habitually casual exterior-being fixed with such a look by a woman in such a position clearly struck Bronn right to the core. He knew that there was no softening the truth. "They're-they're in the Red Keep, my lady. Looking for Wildfire-if there is any…"

Brienne breathed, in and out, supported by Maggie. She stared Bronn down so hard that he felt as if he was shrinking. " _Wildfire_ …" she whispered.

"My lady-"

" _Get him_ … _out_ _of there_ …" she managed to say.

Bronn shuffled his feet a little. "My lady-the whole city will be at war at any moment…the best thing you can do is to stay hidden, and-"

"… _and bring him_ …" she continued, as if he had not spoken. "… _here_ …" She felt tears beginning to gather in her eyes. " _Please, Bronn_ … _I won't leave him there_ … _I need him_ …"

Bronn stood silently for a moment. But as he looked back at Brienne…the look in her eyes…the desperation…he knew he could not refuse. "I'll do what I can." said Bronn, gently bowing again. "I'll try to bring him back."

"Thank you…" Brienne gasped.

"Right. I'll be off, then. Er-good luck." Bronn looked around, nodding to Selwyn and Maggie, before hurrying, almost gratefully, out of the door.

Brienne watched him leave…then reached out for her father.

"Oh, little bird…" Selwyn sighed, holding her comfortingly, but so gently, as if he was afraid he would hurt her. "Everything is going to be fine…" He looked over to Maggie, her kind grey eyes still shining with the thought of dragons. She walked quickly over to the window, looking up as if expecting to see them flying in the sky above…and so Selwyn cared for his daughter. "Everything is going to be fine…" he repeated into her hair. "I'm so proud of you…"

Brienne leaned into her father's chest, feeling like a child once more. "I…I'm scared, Father…" she whispered, so only he could hear.

It broke Selwyn's heart. "I know…so am I…" He kissed her forehead. "You are all I have in the world…but I know that your-your mother is watching over you…So is Galladon, and your sisters…" He sighed hard. "I have been praying to the Mother-to all of the Seven. I know She and They will look after you. And you have Maggie. And-and I know I'm useless-but you have me too. And I'm not going anywhere."

"You're…not useless…" Brienne whispered, slightly delirious. "You're…you're the best father…I could have had…"

Selwyn laughed weakly, feeling tears welling dangerously behind his eyes. "Don't…oh, little bird…" He held her as close as he could. "You know I refuse to cry in company! For the sake of the Gods, save the sentimental crap for your husband!"

Brienne managed to smile-but soon, it was swallowed up in her fear. She could not seem to think straight. "He…he's coming…?"

"Yes, my love, of course he is," said Selwyn firmly. "He will be here for you. I'd never have let him marry you if I thought he would desert you at a time like this. You know Jaime-he'd walk straight through the Seven Hells to get to you now."

"He… might have to…" she whispered, breathing hard. "Wildfire. D- _dragons_ …"

"Don't think about them," said Selwyn firmly, stroking her hair. "Don't think about anything else. Just think about you. And that grandchild of mine, who has picked his moment so very carefully." He smiled down at her heaving belly. "Gods, they're usually teenagers before they start giving you drama and trouble like this…"

Brienne almost smiled again, but instead, she leaned on her father's shoulder. She had never been more grateful to have him-but still, she was consumed with fear for Jaime, and especially for their baby. If he did not survive…

* * *

Cersei stood on the battlements of the Red Keep. Her hair was uncombed, her cheekbones seeming sharp enough to cut like Valyrian steel. She did not shiver in the early morning air, as if she did not feel it. She simply stared over at the horizon…where the sails of hundreds of ships were beginning to appear.

Martell…Greyjoy… _Targaryen_.

The sounds of her own army, preparing beneath and all around her, to take this fleet on, barely reached her ears. She could stare only at the dragon sails, banners she had not seen since she was a teenager. The red and black struck her in the early morning light. It looked like a dream…it _felt_ like a dream.

"Your Grace?"

Cersei turned to her Hand, who was stood beside her. Qyburn did not look nervous-this was a comfort to her. "I am having the bays laced with Wildfire. They will not even get close."

"Good." said Cersei shortly. "If they want _fire and blood_ , then they shall have it. In… _abundance_."

"Additionally, Your Grace," Qyburn continued. "There is a force approaching the capital from the North side. Not more than a half-hour away."

Cersei took a deep breath in through her nose. "Their banners?"

"Arryn…Mormont…Umber…Manderly…Karstark…and Stark."

Cersei gave a stiff snort. Suddenly-she seemed almost to smile. Her eyes glowed brightly in the wintry morning light. She waited for a few moments, before turning again to her hand.

" _Burn them all_."


	51. Chapter 51

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means so much, please continue to do so! More tomorrow, hope you enjoy this chapter. Sorry it's a little short xxx**

* * *

Qyburn stole down to his store, his robe whipping behind him. Behind him, two soldiers marched, their swords primed. All around him, as he descended deeper and deeper into the depths of the Red Keep, men prepared for battle. There were the sounds of steel and clanking of mail everywhere, but he ignored it. Metal would not win them this battle. Flames would.

Finally, he left the noises of soldiers behind as he stole down into the cellars. The size of the oncoming fleet disconcerted him-but he recalled what he had heard of the victory of King Joffrey and the crown against Stannis Baratheon's ships at Blackwater Bay. Wood was so easy to destroy if one had the right substance. The problem would come when the surviving soldiers took to the shores and joined the Northern force. But he hoped the Crown forces would be more than up to a victory against a band of shivering Northerners commanded by a traitor's bastard. Besides, it was almost impossible to fear for the safety of the queen with Ser Gregor on the scene. He doubted that there was a single man on earth who could get through him…

Qyburn turned the heavy key in the lock, and yanked open the door of his private store, leaving the soldiers standing outside. He took a step closer, striking a match to look more clearly into the gloomy stone room. There they were- barrels of Wildfire, ready to be used should the need arise, as it had done today… Carefully, Qyburn set down his candle, far away from the barrels, treating the substance with the respect it deserved. He approached the nearest barrel, carefully touching it… He smiled.

Carefully, Qyburn stepped backwards, lifting the candle. "Come on then, boys," he called to the soldiers. "Up to the shores. Let's get this battle won."

The two soldiers stepped forward through the doorway-when suddenly, by the light of the candle-Qyburn could see their eyes bulging in the half-light. One man coughed-and blood began to pour out of his mouth. The other fell to his knees, his armour clanking on the ground.

Both men had been stabbed in the back.

Before Qyburn could react-there was a dash forward, a flash of golden hair and a familiar face-and then steel.

* * *

Jaime yanked his sword out of Qyburn, letting him bleed out on the floor. He looked down at the man for a few moments. It was almost a shame that such a brilliant mind should end like this…but that brilliant mind was working for all of the wrong reasons. He stopped down to Qyburn's body, taking the heavy key to the store from his hand. Quickly, he turned his back and dashed to help Podrick kick both soldier's bodies firmly into the storeroom, before they both ducked out. He shut the door on the bodies and the Wildfire, jamming the key into the lock and turning it firmly until it clicked into place.

Without stopping to think-Jaime hurried over to the grate in the floor at the other end of the corridor and threw the key down into the gaps between the metal poles. He paused-before there was a splash below. They key was now lost inside the sewage system inside the Red Keep. No one could get to it now.

"Is it done?" came Tyrion's voice from the box Pod had momentarily left on the floor.

"Done, my lord." called Pod, trying the door himself to make sure.

"Good." Tyrion coughed from inside. "Fuck, it's hot in here…We would be foolish to assume that this is the extent of Cersei's collection. She won't have much of the stuff, but she is far too clever to keep what she has all in the same place. Jaime?"

"What?"

"Do you know where Cersei keeps the rest of the Wildfire?"

"Er…no."

Tyrion coughed again, louder. "What do you mean, _no_?"

"I trust you know what it means!" Jaime hissed back, kneeling beside Tyrion. "I was only aware of it being _here_."

Tyrion sighed impatiently. "It could be _anywhere_ then…in her chamber? I heard tell that the Mad King kept jars of Wildfire beneath his own bed by the end. Is there any truth in those rumours, brother?"

"I-I don't know…I can't remember."

"Well, what is the use of you then?" Tyrion hissed frustratedly.

"If you can recall, my lasting memory of the Mad King was shoving my sword in his back. Forgive me if that eclipses my memory of his morning routine!" Jaime stood up, thinking hard. "I-I wouldn't put it past Cersei, though. Not now…" His voice trailed off.

"Right," said Tyrion, sighing heavily. "We need to get up there."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Jaime asked as Pod heaved Tyrion back onto his back.

"Good point…" said Tyrion. He paused, thinking hard. "Mmmm…perhaps we shall have to wait."

" _Wait_?"

"Yes, Jaime, _wait_." said Tyrion shortly. "It's what one does when something isn't going to happen straight away. Those of us who didn't grow up at Jaime Lannister have gotten rather good at it."

Jaime shook his head. "Now is not the time for riddles, brother. If Cersei can still reach Wildfire then the city is in danger. The Mad King placed Wildfire not only in the Red Keep but in the Sept and the Guildhalls. Of course it's too late for the sept, but if she has rigged the whole _capital_ with the stuff-"

"Jaime," Tyrion said, more firmly this time. "Cersei may have many faults, but she is _not_ the Mad King. Aerys Targaryen believed that should he burn, he would be reborn from the ashes as a fucking dragon. Now, I know of only one woman who can emerge unharmed from flames, and that woman is not Cersei. Cersei would not be so stupid as to commit suicide. That would defeat the whole point of all her efforts thus far to gain control." He paused. "The only Wildfire she will use will be in combat."

Jaime swallowed hard. "…I'm sorry. _Brienne_ is in this city...My child...I can't help but…"

"I know, brother," said Tyrion. "Naturally…"

There was a short silence.

"What now?" Jaime asked.

"We wait."

"For what?"

"You will not miss it."

* * *

Cersei had taken to the throne room. She sat on the Iron Throne, gripping the armrests firmly, as if it was about to be whipped from beneath her. Her crown sat defiantly atop her shorn golden hair, her feet flat on the floor. By her side, Ser Gregor stood in all his gruesome glory, red eyes staring blindly out of the slit in his helmet, enormous steel sword secured by his side. Cersei could not quite feel safe-but he certainly helped. She knew that there was no man in the Seven Kingdoms who could get past the Mountain.

No _man_.

"… _dragon cries on the horizon, Your Grace_ …"

Cersei shivered-but she stopped herself so firmly that her bones ached. No. It was impossible. Her lookouts were talking nonsense-it must have been the sight of the dragon banners that had scared them, the memories or stories of the Mad King ringing once again in their ears. It was completely impossible. All the dragons were dead.

Curse Robert Baratheon. Curse Ned Stark. Curse every man on their council for not getting rid of the fugitive daughter of the Mad King, this Daenerys Stormborn who had been born on Dragonstone following the defeat of her father. She knew that Robert had sworn to kill every last Targaryen there was-and he had managed to kill most of them. It was typical that the _one_ he had missed…

Robert had been so _useless._ He could have done so much more. Perhaps that was why she had resented him as she did. Not the whores, nor the drinking, nor the company of Ned Stark, nor even his undying love for Ned's sister…his _inactivity_. The crown, the Iron Throne, the Seven Kingdoms…and yet he did nothing. He had won the power, yes-but he may as well have packed it up in a box and stored it away in a cupboard. She had often thought, and remembered telling him so: _I should wear the armour, and you the gown_ …

Well. Now she wore both.

Curse the Targaryens. Curse the Baratheons, the Starks, the Tyrells, the Martells, the Arryns, the Greyjoys, the Tullys, every last bloody man, woman and child who had ever stood in her way. Curse the imp who had murdered her son, the snake who had murdered her daughter, curse…

 _She_ had killed Tommen.

He had jumped, but she had pushed him. She knew. She knew, and it destroyed her from the inside every moment, sleeping, waking, and it would torment her until the day she died.

She had pushed her baby boy to his death. She had pushed Jaime away from her. And now here she sat, alone, save the Mountain who was only half-alive, in this empty, echoing room on the loneliest chair in the world.

And this is where she would stay. Forever.

"Your Grace?"

Cersei jerked her head up. The blonde-haired Lannister general, who had retrieved Jaime from the North, was walking as quickly as he could towards her throne. When he was close enough, he bowed low, almost to the ground.

"Rise." she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.

The general stood upright, his helmet clutched respectfully in his hand. "Sightings, Your Grace."

"Of what?"

"Of your brother, the Kingslayer. He is inside the Red Keep. He was seen heading below."

Cersei stood up almost immediately. She looked back at Ser Gregor, who was awaiting her next move. "Share this information with no one. Seal every exit. Take me down to him."

Her long black cloak sweeping behind her, the candlelight of the throne room glittering off her lion crown, she followed the general from the room. Behind her, the heavy, unmistakeable footsteps of The Mountain.


	52. Chapter 52

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Means the world, it's so great to hear your thoughts and an especially big hello to anyone who has recently joined us! I hope you enjoy the final stages of this story...Again, sorry this chapter is so short! I promise that the next one will be much longer :)**

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* * *

Though the Crown forces were by no means enormous, they were not small, and neither were they under-equipped. Even the "volunteer" (the term used loosely) foot soldiers had been supplied with ample weaponry that even a man with little training could not fail to do some damage with. Lannister gold still went a long way in Kings Landing-particularly with the fate of the Sept still hanging over the city, an unspoken threat to anyone the Queen required a service of.

The soldiers stood dutifully en masse in the morning light, archers on the battlements, cavalry in the yards, men on the beaches and harbours. It was just beginning to spit thin rain from the dull grey sky, clouded over since dawn. The rain was light now-but there was a thickness in the air. A storm was coming.

But before it had a chance-the sky turned to flames.

* * *

Cersei heard a rumble of thunder from outside as the general lead her down into the depths of the Red Keep, Ser Gregor firmly at her back. She could hear lots of yelling and activity from above-something was happening. Perhaps the attack had already begun. But she could not think of that now. She could think of nothing but reaching Jaime, praying the rumours were true and that Jaime had returned to her in her greatest time of need. Jaime was hers. They had come into this world _together_ , they were supposed to be together. There was nothing any force on earth could do to change that.

Cersei marched on, her back perfectly straight, her crown still perched defiantly on her shorn head. She was the Queen. She was the Queen...

* * *

Jon Snow could hardly feel his fingers gripping the hilt of Longclaw. Rain beat down on his face, obscuring his vision, but he did not wipe it away for fear that he would have to close his eyes. He knew his horse was moving, because he kept having to turn his head to look back, but he did not consciously ride. Somewhere in the distance right beside him, he could hear battle cries, the sounds of steel and horses as his army finally charged into Kings Landing. But, for once-his mind was not on the battle in hand. It was far above his head.

In the sky above, less than mile out to sea…a dragon. A bright green dragon, bronze scales glittering in the reflection of his own fire, mighty gossamer wings spread wide.

The golden yellow dragon swooped close to it, dominating the skyline-but it was this green dragon that Jon could not seem to tear his eyes from. There was something about it-something…it was ridiculous. The dragons had been gone for centuries before Jon's birth. And yet…there was something…he could not quite work it out. It could not be _familiarity_ …and yet it was something close.

As his horse charged on the city, Jon tried to remember what Tyrion had told him about the dragons that he had not quite believed existed until this moment. The black one…Drogon…the yellow…Viserion…the _green_ …Rhaegal.

Rhaegal. After Rhaegar Targaryen.

Bran's words rang in Jon's ears as he stared up at the beautiful green beast in the sky, who had clawed his way back from the pages of history books into real life. There was a strange force in the air as Jon looked up at the dragon named Rhaegal. It was the same feeling he had gotten when he had seen the Wall for the first time, all those years ago, when he was no more than a boy. It was astonishment, awe, more fear than he had anticipated…and yet it was something almost magnetic. Like he...he could not explain.

Jon stopped his horse, letting his army flood past him. Then-he pulled sharply on the reins, guiding the horse down towards the beach. Something he could not comprehend was telling him to go there, that he needed to be there. There was another crash of thunder in the sky. High above him, as if in answer, he could hear the cries of Rhaegal, the shrieks like nothing else on earth.

* * *

Jaime felt incredibly useless as he crouched beside Pod on the cold stone floor beside Qyburn's store, the box containing Tyrion jammed between them. He could sense activity far above his head, and clenched his fists, feeling like a caged animal. He could only imagine the size of Queen Daenerys' forces-and the frontal assault Queen Cersei was sure to be sending back at them. And then there were the dragons…three dragons. Three dragons, alive and real as he was, were somewhere above his head. The very thought of it took his breath away. He remembered the skulls in the throne room in the days of the Mad King, some as big as a carriage, some as small as cats…in his mind's eye, he covered them in cold flesh and shiny scales, bringing them to life in his head…he sighed aloud in astonishment.

But he was not a boy anymore, no sixteen-year-old Kingsguard, back when life was so much more simple. He could not afford his awe-all he could think of was that there were two huge armies and three dragons, and all of the devastation and death they brought with them, far, far too close to his family. He prayed that Brienne had managed to stay hidden, that Bronn was protecting her. He prayed that this would all be over quickly, that Daenerys would truly sit on the throne by nightfall, so that the next day, he could go back to her…

Suddenly, Jaime frowned. Two things occurred to him that he had not thought of before. The reality of the situation was that…if Daenerys was to take the throne…Cersei would have to die.

Jaime paused, his stomach dropping horribly. He was hugely conflicted. On one hand, the Cersei he had known and loved, _his_ Cersei, had burned with the Sept months ago. He had already lost and mourned her, and the woman who now walked with her strides and wore her face was…still his sister. Jaime hated the woman for burning the city he had given his honour to save from the Mad King, for destroying hundreds of innocent lives, for trying to murder his wife and child…but she was his sister. And he did not want her to die.

And the second idea…Daenerys Stormborn the conqueror, whom Tyrion served, whom Jaime now served indirectly himself, who was the best hope for Westeros, who deserved the throne and who made her great bid for her birthright that day…was the daughter of Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King in his throne room full of dragon skulls. The Mad King. And Jaime was the _Kingslayer_. He had killed her father by ramming a sword into his back, then cutting his throat to make sure.

In her shoes…Jaime was not sure he would allow himself to live.

Daenerys did not know why her father had to die. No one did, Jaime realised, apart from Brienne. What would it matter to the Mother of Dragons that Jaime, in killing the Mad King, he had saved a city, saved his own father, saved every man, woman and child in Kings Landing? He had killed her father, deposed her family, sentenced her to a life on the run…

Jaime swallowed hard. He knew that, by rights, he should lay his neck on the block and allow Daenerys to avenge her father. If he was still a single man, the only life to protect being his own, he would have done it as a mark of respect. But now…he had a child of his own, who would be born into a dangerous new world in less than a month. He could not bear to leave his child fatherless.

He had to try.

"Tyrion?" Jaime whispered.

"Yes?" Tyrion hissed back from inside the box.

"Listen," Jaime sighed, swallowing hard again before he began to speak. "I need to tell you…about the night I killed the Mad King."

He heard Tyrion shuffle his feet against the wood of the box. "Go on. We have plenty of time for a chat, clearly. It's not like-"

But before Tyrion could finish his sentence-heavy, unmistakeable footsteps. The swish of a gown on stone. A soldier's marching.

There was no time to react-before Jaime came face to face with his sister again.


	53. Chapter 53

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* * *

Jaime allowed himself simply to stare at his sister for a long moment. He had still not quite gotten used to her short hair, the black clothes she favoured instead of the Lannister red, the silver jewellery she wore rather than the Lannister gold. There was a jolt to his stomach as he realised how much he missed the old Cersei, the sister he had loved more than anything else in the world…Now, this woman simply wore her face. Queen Cersei stared right back at him, her eyes as emerald as the Wildfire he had locked in the Qyburn's store with his body, and twice as scorching. Wildfire could, at least, be extinguished by sand. There was no such remedy for Cersei's flames.

"Knew you'd come crawling back, Kingslayer." muttered the blond general from behind the queen. Jaime started as he recognised him as the general who had tormented him in his captivity. But he could not think of that now. Slowly, Jaime got to his feet, stepping carefully in front of the box that contained Tyrion.

"Your grace." He greeted her carefully, formally. This did not seem to help.

" _Where in the Seven Hells have you been_?" Cersei hissed, taking a few steps towards him. Ser Gregor and the blond general stayed by the door, their weapons primed for the moment their queen gave an order. "I have shut down the _city_ looking for you! And now we are under _attack_. You would leave me alone while the city was at war? Your sister-your _queen_!"

Jaime opened his mouth, trying to think of a good reason for his disappearance. "Your grace-" he repeated, before Cersei cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Who is that?" asked the blond general suddenly, pointing at Pod, who crouched like a scared rabbit beside Tyrion's box, looking up in fear and awe at Cersei. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to run-but could not bring himself to leave Tyrion.

"He is no one," said Jaime, quickly. "My-my squire, that's all." He felt guilty to belittle Pod-but he knew he would understand.

"Bit old to be a squire, isn't he?"

"This hardly matters now," Cersei snapped. She had not taken her eyes from Jaime. "Well. You have returned just in time. I have assigned Ser Albyrt to be your protector on the field." Cersei continued, gesturing to the blond general carelessly, not taking her eyes off of her brother as if scared he would disappear again. "You are to fight in my place as my representative, to inspire the men with the presence of their monarch. Ser Albyrt is under instructions to get you out if things go badly-which I am sure they will not-we will have these rebels crushed by nightfall. But still, I will not lose you again…" Her stony expression quietly became one of desperation. "You are all I have, Jaime. I will not lose you for the sake of a little rebel bitch from the other side of the Narrow Sea."

Jaime blinked a few times, taking in everything Cersei had said. The desperation in her face stirred the little brotherly affection he still had for her. "Cersei…" He sighed, keeping his voice very calm. "Cersei…You know you cannot win this…"

Cersei bristled. "Do not be so ridiculous. The Targaryen girl is little more than a child, some Dothraki horselord's whore. I am the _queen_." Something wild stirred in her eyes as she spoke. "I am the queen, and you will represent me on the field. You will show these rebels how Lannisters roar. We will settle the debt Robert Baratheon left me by not killing every last dragon there was to avenge his precious Lyanna. And then you will sit beside me as I rule the Seven Kingdoms in my rightful place." She took another step towards Jaime, so that they were in touching distance. "In _our_ rightful place. We will _burn them all_ …"

Jaime stared helplessly at his sister, her words sending an icy shiver through him. Seeing her like this…he thought of no one but the Mad King as he looked at her. His own sister, the Mad _Queen_ , who had burned the sept of Balor to the ground...Aerys had shown the same arrogance during Robert Baratheon's rebellion, and especially at the end…just before Jaime had shoved a sword in his back…

Now, as he looked at her, he did not think of her crimes. He thought of Cersei, the Cersei he had once known. And she was lost.

"Cersei…" He reached out his good hand, taking hers. She twitched a little as he touched her…but her fingers weaved their way around his. "Cersei, this is… _madness_." He held her hand tightly, speaking softly, as if to a child. "Daenerys has a vast army of Unsullied, of Second Sons, of Dothraki bloodriders, of Iron Islanders, of Dornishmen…of Northerners, Vale knights…and _dragons_ , Cersei."

Cersei paused for a moment-then sniffed dismissively. "The dragons are _gone_."

" _No_ , Cersei…" Jaime sighed again, keeping his voice gentle. "No, they are not. _Fighting_ them, fighting Daenerys Stormborn…it's _madness_. You cannot win this." He swallowed hard. "I beg of you, Cersei… _please_. No more blood has to be spilled. No more men have to burn. You can _end_ this." He took a careful step closer to her, reaching up and gently running his fingers through her hair, holding her cheek. " _Please_ , Cersei."

Cersei looked back at Jaime, something shining in the corner of her eye. But-she was stone. "I will _not_ give up the Iron Throne! Do you know how much I have sacrificed for it?"

"Too much…" Jaime whispered heavily. "Far, far too much…"

" _I will not give it up_!" Her voice had not rose-it had lowered to a snake-like hiss. "I am the queen, and you are my brother, and I _order_ you to fight for me!"

Jaime felt his heart breaking as he looked at the face that had once held the woman he had loved. "Cersei…this is suicide. If you try and fight the Dragon Queen, if you try and fight her dragons, you are dead. I am dead. Every man, woman and child in this city is dead. What is a crown? What is a throne? It doesn't matter- _none_ of it matters! _Please_ , Cersei…no more have to die. Just _end this_."

Cersei stared straight into Jaime's eyes. " _Valar Morghulis_." she whispered.

Jaime wanted to cry for her.

"Oh Cersei…this _isn't_ you!" He held her face in both of his hands, the good hand and the stump she so loathed. He searched her desperately. "I know that my sister is there somewhere! I know that the woman I loved is there somewhere! You have to reach her-you have to stop this! Cersei, _my_ Cersei, the Cersei who loved her children more fiercely than I have ever seen anyone love anything, _my_ Cersei, who was clever, brave-but not foolish- _my_ Cersei, who could make the Earth spin in the other direction with a look in her eyes, not a crown in her hands, or fire and blood! _My_ Cersei…" He looked hard into her eyes, frantically looking for any trace of the sister he had loved. " _Please_ …" he begged her, as he found none.

Cersei was stone…but slowly, something else crept into her expression. Suddenly, it was as if she had begun to shrink in his hands. "You…you mean to say that…you don't love me?"

Jaime was astonished that this was the part of his speech she had payed attention to. Nonetheless, he held her close. " _Gods_ …" He swallowed hard. "Cersei, how can you speak of this now?"

Cersei stared straight back, undeterred. "What do you mean?" she demanded, her hand beginning to shake. "I have done unspeakable things to bring you home! I let our father disown us to keep us together, I laid my neck on the block every time I lay with you, every child we created, _everything_!" Her pale, gaunt face was beginning to turn dark as her voice became hysterical with rage. "I tore a _kingdom_ apart because I love you, Jaime! We came into this world _together_! We-"

" _Cersei_!" Jaime shouted over her. He clutched her face tighter. "You are my _sister_. Of course I love you-that is why I am _begging_ you to-"

" _You know that is not what I mean_!" Cersei screamed-then she caught herself, breathing hard, trying desperately to lower her voice. "Jaime…" she whispered. " _Jaime_ …" She pressed her hands into his chest, painfully hard. "I know…I know I drove you away…" Her nails scratched his tunic…as she swallowed hard, as if holding back dry tears. "…why won't you…why can't you…is it because…because of what happened to Brienne of Tarth?"

Jaime's stomach felt like a rock. He looked down at Cersei, shocked that she had even spoke her name. He remembered to speak carefully, knowing that Cersei still thought Brienne dead. "Cersei…you ordered the deaths of my wife, and our child. You burned half this city to the ground, killed so many lives I saved, so long ago. I-I never told you…but it doesn't matter now. Of course that is going to change things. But Cersei…you know it was long, long before Brienne, that we…we…Oh Gods, we were _children_. We were children, and I loved you then, more than I thought it possible to love…but-"

Cersei's head had snapped up to his. "Your _wife_?"

"Oh…" Jaime bit his lip. "You didn't know? I'm sorry-how stupid of me. I'm so sorry-"

"You _wed_ that…that…?" Cersei's hands were shaking. She stared desperately at him, her eyes wild.

Jaime sighed. "…The very day your soldiers came…but that doesn't matter now. You _have_ to surrender, Cersei. You _have_ to."

Cersei looked up at him, her eyes narrowed, her mouth slack, as if nothing mattered more to her. She simply stared.

"What's in the box?" asked Ser Albyrt suddenly.

Jaime started-he had all but forgotten about Tyrion. Panic began to grip him-but he determinedly kept his cool. "How should I know? It was here when I arrived."

Ser Albyrt narrowed his cold, green eyes. He sniffed the air hard, before bending down to take a closer look. "This box is from Essos, Your Grace. Marked in low Valyrian…I know that is the word for "wine". The other…"apricot"? Yes. Apricot Wine."

A memory stirred inside Jaime-he remembered that Tyrion had planned to give him apricot wine as a wedding gift. He held his breath, trying hard to look ignorant.

Ser Albyrt was not finished. "This Daenerys sailed from Essos. This box could contain anything-something dangerous, probably. How it got here, I don't know, but that is suspicious enough in itself, don't you think, Your Grace?"

Cersei ignored him. She simply stared up at Jaime.

"Well," Ser Albyrt clapped his hands. "I think it would be wise to take a look inside." Quickly, he marched over to the box, bent down and-

That was the moment when Ser Podrick Payne did a very brave thing.

Pod sprang up from the floor, wielding his sword-and lunged at Cersei. His blow did not land anywhere near her, and Jaime knew that after being trained by Brienne he could not have swung that badly by accident. Pod had never meant to hit her-but the malicious intent was clear.

" _Treason_!" Ser Albyrt yelled, turning from Tyrion's box and whipping around to Pod. " _Treason_! You will die for this!" He wielded his sword-but Pod was quicker. He lunged-this time, his every move showed Brienne's training. He hit Ser Albyrt hard in the side of the neck. As the blood began to gush out-Pod twisted his sword back and decapitated the general with one, clean swoop.

As Ser Albyrt's headless body fell to the floor, the head rolling sickeningly away and bouncing off of Tyrion's box-Pod turned around. He breathed hard, as if he had just run fifty miles, and the look in his eyes was as if he had fifty more to run. His small body vibrated all over with adrenaline and fear…as he looked up at Ser Gregor.

The Mountain took a deafening, floor-shaking footstep towards Pod, echoing off the walls like a death toll.

Cersei tore her eyes from Jaime and looked at Pod, the strange man who had just killed her general. She gave the order carelessly, as if she had just asked Ser Gregor to pour her wine. " _Kill him_."

Jaime had just enough time to meet Pod's eye, to see the sheer terror cloud them…and yet the pride…somehow, as Pod ran as fast as his short legs could carry him past the Mountain and into the corridor, his footsteps like a sewing machine, trying to outrun the Mountain's thundering elephant-like stomps as he gave chase…Pod was proud. Pod knew, as he ran from the Mountain, who slowly gained on him, wielding his enormous sword, that he was the best squire who had ever lived…

As the Mountain chased Pod further and further away, their footsteps becoming fainter and fainter…Cersei turned back to Jaime.

"Jaime…" Her voice was little more than a whisper. She reached up, wrapping her hands around his shoulders, her eyes almost desperate. "Jaime…listen to me." The queen was shaking all over-and yet her eyes were strong, boring into him like lasers. Jaime had not felt this helpless since he had been dragged into the hall at Winterfell, waiting for the man who now lay headless on the floor to be told the fate of Brienne.

"Jaime…" Cersei whispered again. "I always knew…when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. I would rather die…on the throne…" She reached down into her pocket, and pulled out a small bottle. Jaime did not have to ask what it was-essence of nightshade. The little bottle was filled to the brim with the strange liquid. "If the Targaryen girl prevails…" She did not need to finish that sentence.

"Cersei-"

"Stop it, Jaime," Cersei snapped-but she buried her fingers in his hair. "We came into this world together. We were always supposed to be together. And my only wish has always been…that we leave it together." She reached up, and kissed him full on the lips. "If we are victorious today, I will reign with you by my side. If we are not…"

Jaime wanted to snatch the bottle from her hand and smash it on the floor. He stared into his sister's eyes, seeing only madness. "It doesn't have to be this way," he begged her. "Just surrender-"

"I will never surrender!" Cersei kissed him again, more urgently. "I thought you knew me better, Jaime! Apart from our children, I have only ever loved you. Every damn morning I woke up and wished to every god there was that everyone else in the world would disappear so that we could love one another in peace! I would burn every man, woman and child in the world simply to be beside you again. I would massacre everyone who ever stood between us, I would extinguish civilizations and I would burn cities to ash. _Do you understand_?"

Jaime felt tears threatening behind his eyes. "Oh Cersei…this is why we can never be! We destroyed each other every day-we brought out the very worst in one another every moment we were together. For the sake of the gods, I crippled Ned Stark's son for you! A _child_! Cersei…" He swallowed hard. "I am not that man anymore. I am not the man you loved. The man you loved was a monster…and right now, so is this woman standing before me. But I know-I know, somewhere, deep down, you are not her, and she is not Cersei. We have both changed so much…" He forced her to meet his eyes. "We are not children anymore. We cannot pretend for a moment longer. You need to wake up and see the world for what it is-see _us_ for what we are."

Cersei stared up at Jaime in disbelief. There was a long silence…before she opened her mouth and-

But no words came.

A loud crash from behind. The flash of a dagger. The sound of steel cutting deep into flesh.

Tyrion Lannister had sprung from his hiding place- and stabbed Cersei in the back.

" _CERSEI_!" Jaime screamed as she fell, catching her in his arms. He knelt to the floor, holding her in his lap. " _CERSEI_!"

Cersei's face showed nothing but pure shock. She looked up, almost in disbelief-and then her face twisted in pain. She looked up at Jaime, finally holding her in his arms.

Tyrion looked on from behind Cersei, just out of her sight. He held the dagger, covered with his sister's blood. He met Jaime's eyes…and there was nothing but grim guilt on his face. Perhaps there was a hint of satisfaction…but not much. And nothing significant. As he looked back at Jaime, there was nothing but guilt and sorrow.

Jaime felt as if the room was imploding around him-and yet there was nothing but silence. He could tell that Tyrion's shot was awful-Jaime knew that she would die slowly, painfully…

Cersei's lips moved. She was trying to say something…but there was blood filling her mouth. "J…Jaime…"

"I'm here," Jaime whispered to her, holding her close, feeling her warm blood dripping onto his clothes. "I'm not going anywhere now. I'm here." He looked down at the dying woman-and finally, he could see nothing but his twin sister. He had come into this world clutching her heel…she was his other half, she had completed him for almost his whole life…

Cersei opened her mouth again…but now, she was beyond speaking. Her face was contorted horribly, and Jaime knew she was in agony.

Jaime's sister was an evil woman. She had burned half a city to the ground, killed so many people, started wars, sacrificed hundreds for her throne…and yet she was his sister. Jaime knew, by the look in her eyes, that her only thoughts were of her children. _Their_ children. Jaime felt the threatening tears of before beginning to spill down his cheeks as he pictured Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen…and now their mother would go back to them.

Cersei's whole body shook, convulsing, blood pouring out as she died so slowly…her face was almost unrecognisable as she suffered so horribly…

Jaime blinked hard. He knew what he had to do.

He reached down, silently, so that she could neither see nor hear…and his fingers found the hilt of his sword.

Quickly, he bent his head and kissed her forehead, stifling a sob.

Then-with one, neat stroke of the blade-he cut her throat.


	54. Chapter 54

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! It means so much that you have stuck with me and continued to read, and I always love to hear your thoughts too! Thank you millions.**

 **More tomorrow :) honestly, you won't want to miss it ;) much love xxx**

* * *

The sounds of battle raged, in the distance, and yet all too close.

Tyrion stared down at his siblings, on the floor of this corridor in the halls of the Red Keep, one dead in the other's arms. He could feel the knife in his hand, cold, rough, the sharp blade glinting in the dim light. He could hear the sound of drops of Cersei's blood splashing from the tip onto the stone floor. Instinctively-he dropped the dagger.

In the same moment, Jaime dropped his sword to the floor, Cersei's blood shining scarlet on the steel. It made a small crash.

Tyrion looked back at Cersei, at the expression on her face. It was smooth, finally empty, finally still. Despite his hint of satisfaction as the woman who had ruined his life lay dead…he hated himself. He had killed their mother, Joanna Lannister, to come into this world, although he knew it was not strictly his fault. He had killed their father, Tywin Lannister. He had sent his niece Myrcella to Dorne, where she would die. And now…he had killed his sister. It was true what he had said to Daenerys-no one, he was sure, had killed more Lannisters than he.

Jaime looked up from Cersei to Jaime, feeling the dagger of guilt in his own back twist. Jaime's face was unreadable. The last of his tears fell onto Cersei's face…and yet his eyes were dry. His mouth was a tight line as he looked down at her, seeming like he did not know whether to scream or cry. Instead…he did nothing.

Tyrion took several steps towards his brother. "Jaime…I'm sorry…"

"No." Jaime said stiffly. "I…I understand…It…it had to…I mean…" He sniffed hard. "She wouldn't…she'd never have stopped."

Tyrion was not sure Jaime really did believe his own words. But still-he had to remember where they were, and what was happening. "Jaime, you need to get out of here. The Mountain will be back at any moment. You need to get back to your wife and get out of the capital while you still can."

Jaime simply stared down at Cersei, her blood staining his clothes. "I…I didn't want it to end like this…She didn't deserve this…she deserved dignity at least…"

" _Jaime_ ," Tyrion repeated loudly. "You have to go! The second Ser Gregor drags himself back here and finds that the queen is dead, he will kill us both with his bare hands. _Jaime_." Tyrion knelt down beside his brother. "Think of your child. You _have_ to get out of Kings Landing. Get as far away as you can."

Slowly, Jaime lifted his head. He looked straight at Tyrion. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me. I always find my way out of situations like this, don't I?" Tyrion gritted his teeth. "Besides, I'll buy you time. You have a wife and child-I have nothing… _go_!"

Jaime shook his head. "I won't leave you-"

" _Go_!" Tyrion put a hand firmly on his shoulder. "I'll be fine! _Trust_ me…" He looked significantly at Jaime. "Get out of here. Get back to Brienne and get yourselves far away. Go to Tarth-don't stop until you get there. I'll see you again, brother." Tyrion held on firmly, squeezing. "I'll see you soon."

Slowly, reluctantly, Jaime lay Cersei down on the ground. As an afterthought, he removed his black cloak and gently covered her with it, hiding the slash to her neck, smoothing it over her body. Tyrion, taking the initiative, removed his own brown Essos cloak, balled it up loosely and placed it carefully beneath her head. As she lay on the stone floor, she could have, finally, been sleeping peacefully. Both brothers took a moment to look upon her one last time, the sister who had dragged them both through hell-but their sister, nonetheless.

In the distance-the footsteps of the Mountain began to grow louder. There were no sewing-machine steps to accompany them…there was no sign of Pod.

"Go now," said Tyrion, his voice thick. "Before it gets nasty."

Jaime bent down and hugged Tyrion quickly, holding on tightly, before turning on his heel to leave-when suddenly, louder than the thundering steps of the Mountain as he drew nearer…there was a noise from beyond the walls. A strange, scraping noise, as if a thousand steel blades were burrowing through the earth outside-and then knocking on the thick stone walls.

Tyrion jumped, staring at the wall where the deafening noise was now coming from. Then, before Jaime could even begin to wonder what was going on-Tyrion grabbed his arm and dragged him away, slamming him against the opposite wall. He held him there fast, with more strength than even he had thought himself capable of. The footsteps of the Mountain drew closer and closer

"What's happen-"

" _Shh_!" Tyrion hissed-before the wall caved in, stone and dirt flying into the room in a cloud of dust…and out of that dust…a yellow head, scales glinting golden. Row upon row of long, white teeth, stained red with blood and ash. A long neck, covered in sharp spines. The temperature of the room tripled simply from the breathing of the creature who had just burst into the corridor.

Jaime could not breathe.

"Brother," Tyrion whispered. "This is Viserion."

The dragon gave a thundering cry, echoing from the very heart of the earth, the force so strong it pinned both Lannister brothers to the wall. Quickly, Tyrion stepped in front of Jaime, keeping his arms spread as if to shield him. "Don't be fooled by his expression. He is very pleased to meet you."

Jaime could not tear his eyes away from the beast. His mouth had fallen open. " _By all the gods_ -"

" _Shhh_!" Tyrion shook his head, before turning back to the dragon, holding his hands up carefully. The dragon made a hissing sound, looking around the room with his huge, lizard eyes-until he spotted Tyrion. He gave another roar-but this time, it was not quite so threatening. This was a sound of familiarity, of recognition. Tyrion nodded encouragingly to him, keeping his demeanour very calm. The dragon seemed to know him. Jaime could do nothing but gawp.

Through the door into the chaos, there came Ser Gregor Clegane. His mighty blade was covered in blood, his cold, red eyes staring out of the slit in his helmet. He marched forth into the corridor-before stopping dead in his tracks as those scarlet eyes, redder than Pod's blood staining his sword, fell upon Viserion.

Tyrion carefully cleared his throat. Then, as if he was not quite sure what was about to happen…he spoke, clearly, straight to the creature before him. " _Dracarys_."

Instantly-a huge, towering jet of dragonfire sprang forth from the jaws of the dragon, engulfing the Mountain in orange flames.

When nothing but ashes remained of Ser Gregor, his enormous flame reduced to nothing, Viserion snapped his jaws in satisfaction. He bent his head, and snapped up the body of Ser Albyrt, beginning to chew lazily on his now scorched torso. Tyrion, shaking slightly now, his eyes wide, turned back to Jaime. " _Go. Now_."

* * *

Jaime ran, hardly able to believe what he had just witnessed with his own eyes. It seemed completely impossible that he had just watched Tyrion, his own baby brother Tyrion, give orders to a dragon, the like of which had not been seen on Westeros for centuries-and _what_ a beast. Jaime had never seen anything more beautiful and terrible in his life. Its golden yellow scales, its eyes, its fire…the cry of the dragon would stay with him until the day he died.

He ran, trusting the chaos in the city to disguise him. Up the stairs, into the halls of the Red Keep, through the great doors from which he had entered, still unable to think about anything except the dragon, the dragon named Viserion…and so the cool air and the battle cries around him felt so foreign. Rain began to beat down hard on his face, the distant crashes of thunder and cracks of lightening disorientating him. Jaime pulled out his sword without thinking, running as fast as he could, avoiding the loudest areas, wanting nothing less than to get caught up in the fighting, especially now that Cersei was dead.

Cersei was dead…

"Jaime! JAIME!"

There was a cry from behind him. Jaime whipped around-to see Ser Bronn running towards him, a frantic expression on his face.

"Bronn?" Jaime was shocked to see him. "Where have you been."

Bronn skidded to a halt in front of him, panting hard. "Fucking hell, I've been all over the sodding shop looking for you!" He straightened up to full height, face to face with Jaime, before speaking again. "Where is Lord Tyrion? And Pod?"

Jaime swallowed hard. "Pod…is dead."

Bronn's face fell. Suddenly, it seemed like the air had become colder. "How?" he managed to ask.

"Bravely…" Jaime murmured sadly. "Very, _very_ bravely…"

Both men were silent for a few moments.

"And...and Tyrion?"

Jaime took a deep breath. "He has a dragon."

Bronn did a double-take. "He has a _what_?"

"A-"

"No, believe me, I _bloody_ heard you. _Fucking hell_ …but-" Bronn shook his head hard in disbelief-before suddenly slapping his head as if having just remembered why he was there, raising his eyebrows significantly. "Never mind that now. Jaime, you had better fucking get back there."

"What?" Panic began to grip him. "What's happened?" His heart turned to ice. "Has something happened to Brienne?"

"Not quite. The little Lannister has decided that he doesn't want to miss out on the action."

Jaime stopped dead. Rain seemed to soak him from all directions. A crack of lightening.

"What?"

"Get back there," Bronn repeated, taking Jaime by the shoulders and turning him in the other direction. "She's having your baby. And you had better be there. I hate to think what she'd do to you if you missed it. Go now!"

Seeing a real dragon burst through the wall of the Red Keep now seemed like nothing compared to the way Bronn's words hit him. Jaime felt as if the ground had opened up beneath him, and now he was falling, falling, towards the very chasms of the earth. He found himself incapable of speech or thought as he ran like he had never run before, away from Bronn, in the direction of the street on which Brienne hid. Another huge crash of thunder, like a thousand bells and drums, shattered the sky above him, and somewhere in the distance, in the very back of his mind, he could have sworn he heard the cries of a dragon, shaking the earth and skies so that they almost consumed him and everything around him...

But not quite. Pulled by a force like nothing he had known before, Jaime ran on through the storm.


	55. Chapter 55

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! It honestly means so much, please continue to do so! More tomorrow! I won't keep you a moment longer. Much love xxx**

* * *

Finally, Jaime managed to dash through the final corner to the correct street. The market was now deserted, the street entirely empty. Jaime hardly noted his surroundings, his eyes fixed only on the upper floors of the building in which Brienne hid. His head was reeling-part of him could not believe what Bronn had said could possibly be true, that Brienne, at that very moment, was in the process of…He ran as fast as he could towards the hiding place, hardly feeling his boots hitting the cobbles. It seemed impossible that so suddenly, so abruptly and weeks before time, Brienne was giving birth to his baby.

Jaime shook his head as he skidded to a halt in front of the door. He stopped, gazing up at the open window, behind which he knew that…but that was all that he could think of-before he heard it.

He could never mistake Brienne's voice. It filled his head and haunted his dreams. But-he had never, and prayed never to again, heard her make a sound like this. He had heard her scream, heard her battle cries, heard her sobbing when worry for their child had overwhelmed her so many times. And yet-none of them could compare to this sound. It was not a scream, a cry, a sob. He had no word to describe it. All he knew was that, whatever sound it was-it sent a tsunami of adrenaline through his whole body-he had no option but to reach her.

Jaime ran to the door, yanking it open-and he was immediately met with the swords of Ser Alun and Ser Owaiyn, knights of Tarth. The moment they recognised Jaime-both men sprung back, allowing him to pass by, running up the stairs to the door. In the doorway stood Ser Gethyn, vast, steadfast-but instantly, he moved aside for Jaime, his eyes kind as always-yet there was a kind of brooding behind them, as if he was in the midst of deepest concern. Trying to ignore this, Jaime managed to unlock the door, before throwing it open and rushing inside.

The first thing that hit him was the heat. Despite the cold rain belting in at the window, the entire room was close and humid, as if it were the eye of the storm. He could see the scarlet cloak discarded over the back of a chair. But-all thought of his surroundings immediately disappeared as his eyes swept down to the bare wooden floor…and finally found his wife.

Brienne's eyes were tightly closed. She seemed to be in a place so far away that she could not possibly have registered anyone entering the room. Her face was pale, her forehead damp, a wisp of yellow hair sticking to it. Jaime could see that it was not just sweat-but tears, shining on her cheeks. She breathed heavily, and yet steadily. On one side of her-Maggie, gently brushing her hair back from her face with her fingers, whispering softly to her, reminding her to breathe. On the other-Selwyn Tarth crouched, holding his daughter as if she was as fragile as spider silk: but the moment he spotted Jaime, he leapt to his feet.

"Oh, thank the gods." Selwyn hurried over to Jaime, embracing him quickly. "You're alright, son. I'm so relieved you're here-what is that?" he asked suddenly, noticing that Jaime was covered in blood.

Jaime gave Selwyn a very hard look, clearly reminding him that there were more important matters in hand-and he understood. He clapped Jaime on the back, before turning back to his daughter. "Brienne? Jaime is here. I told you he would come. I knew he would not desert you now." He squeezed Jaime's shoulder gratefully, before hurrying back to Brienne's side, crouching beside her.

Brienne did not open her eyes. She breathed hard.

As if pulled by a magnetic force, Jaime fell to his knees at her side. "Oh, gods…" he breathed, hardly able to look at her and yet he would rather die than tear his eyes away. "Oh gods…I'm here now…I'm here…I'm sorry…"

As her breathing began to even out…Brienne turned her head towards her husband. She opened her astonishing blue eyes, which still struck Jaime to the core. He looked at her, his wife, the woman he loved, who was giving birth to his baby, their baby, their own child…he did not believe that he could possibly love her more than he did in that moment…

Until he realised that she was glaring at him.

Jaime was confused. Then, her voice hardly above a whisper, barely audible:

" _Where…the fucking hell…have you been_?"

Jaime was slightly taken back-before he finally smiled. His cheeks felt stiff with the stains of his tears-but he couldn't help smiling. "Gods, I love you…" he sighed, taking her hand and kissing the scorching pale skin. "I'm so sorry. I came as fast as I could. But I'm here now, my love. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I told you-I wouldn't miss this for the world." He squeezed her hand, holding tightly. "Just like I promised..."

* * *

It was late before the battle finally ceased, the final sword thrown down. There was a strange deafening silence over Kings Landing, apart from the sounds of the rain and the sounds of the storm. The streets were entirely deserted by civilians-not one dared to leave their home now. The only activity on the streets were groups of Daenerys' soldiers on patrol, bands of Unsullied, Second Sons, even Dothraki. None plundered, or took more lives for sport, on the commands of their queen. They simply patrolled the city which was now theirs. The military Unsullied, the swaggering Second Sons, the wild Dothraki…each looked more out of place in the capital than the last. But none looked so out of place as the creatures who now climbed the Red Keep.

Drogon had risen the highest, stretching his wings after the day's work, his claws scratching on the stones of the highest tower. He did not cry out or make any sound-he was yet watchful, still protecting his mother with every ounce of concentration he had. Viserion and Rhaegal climbed somewhere beneath him, shrieking and playfully fighting with one another. There was little aggression in it, and yet just enough that their power and might were absolute to anyone who could see them.

The message was clear as the sight and sound dominated the sky. Now, the dragon ruled.

Inside the Red Keep, Daenerys Targaryen sat, finally, on the Iron Throne. She did not quite look comfortable there, hating the swords. She did not need such a symbol of violence in her throne room-and yet this was where her father had sat, where he had ruled from before the Usurper ousted him. It was strange-so far from where she had grown up, she had never felt closer to her dead family than she did right at that moment. There was no crown on her head-she did not need one. There was no mistaking that she was a queen.

Before her, Tyrion Lannister stood, his brown Essos robes still stained with blood and ash. Beside him, Jon Snow, battle-weary and windswept-and yet, he felt more alive than he had ever felt in his life. And both men were bowing to the new queen. Though they bowed to her-there was an undeniable kinship in the air between the three. Something deeper than loyalty now connected them to one another, deeper than blood, water, fire or ice.

"The kingdoms are yours, Your Grace" said Tyrion as he rose. His eyes were shining, the badge of the Hand glinting on his chest. "Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Your Name. Nice ring to it, isn't there?"

Daenerys looked far too serious to even smile. She cast her violet eyes upon him. "So many died for me today...and ever since I was born...just to ensure I sat on this throne today. I will _not_ let them down."

"Of course not, Your Grace," Tyrion nodded.

"My subjects cower from my dragons," Daenerys continued levelly, her voice echoing around the throne room. "I will not rule by fear. If I do so, I am no queen. Just another oppressor."

"They will love you in time," Tyrion said, another smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "You only got here this morning. And you have saved them from a true tyrant…"

"Yes," said Daenerys, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at her hand. "Tell me exactly what became of Cersei Lannister. I know that her body is still below. I want it removed and burned decently. Whatever she was, I will not treat the remains of my enemies barbarically."

"That is very noble, Your Grace," Tyrion nodded. "However…there is another, er, person below…" He looked down at the floor for a moment. "One Ser Podrick Payne. He died for me, Your Grace. I have never known a man act so bravely, so selflessly, so…I want to give him a burial fit for a great man." Tyrion coughed a little as he looked back up to his queen. "If it please Your Grace?"

Daenerys looked at Tyrion for a moment-then nodded. "Make the arrangements yourself. If this man was as great as you say he was, then bury him as you would see fit to bury your highest lords."

Tyrion bowed again, lower. "Thank you, Your Grace. I know he would have served you well."

"He served you, and therefore he served me," said Daenerys-but in her mind, she had already moved on. "Now-tell me what exactly became of Cersei Lannister?"

Tyrion took a deep breath. "I slew her, Your Grace."

Daenerys nodded. "Yes, I knew that. Alone? No offence, but I find that hard to believe."

Tyrion gave another weak smile-but quickly, it gave way to dread. "Not alone…My brother. Ser Jaime Lannister."

" _Ser Jaime Lannister_?" Daenerys said the name slowly, as if it tasted awful in her mouth. She looked around the throne room, and Tyrion knew she was envisioning her father's death. "The one they call _Kingslayer_?"

Tyrion nodded reluctantly. "The very same."

Daenerys was silent for a moment. Then, she looked down at Tyrion again. "I want him found, and I want him executed."

Tyrion's blood ran cold. "Your Grace-"

"I know that he is your brother. I will not ask you to carry out this task yourself," said Daenerys fairly. "But the man killed my father. He is the reason I spent my life running. I will not have him in my new world. I would have him die for his crime, as he should have before I was born."

Tyrion pursed his lips. He took a step closer to Daenerys, trying hard to keep his voice and manner level, adopting his most persuasive tones. He could not lose his cool now. He had to save Jaime. "Your Grace…my brother has fought for your cause since you travelled West. Without him, upon reaching the bays, your ships would have been consumed by Wildfire. Without him, Cersei would have found and killed me. Without him, we would never have rallied the collective Northern forces. Without him…Cersei would still be alive."

Daenerys was almost unmoved-but she listened politely to her Hand. "I understand that he has atoned to some extent. For that, Jaime Lannister will not suffer the painful death my father would have wanted for him. But still-I cannot have him in my new world."

Tyrion's brain whirred. "So don't have him…Banish him."

Daenerys paused. " _Banish_ him?"

Tyrion took another careful step towards her. "Do this for me as your Hand. Don't kill a man who has done nothing but serve you since you came to Westeros-a man who is not the same man as the one who killed your father. Besides…" Tyrion sighed hard. "My brother has never said so much…but I do not believe that Jaime killed your father out of allegiance to Robert Baratheon. I saw both men living together for about twenty years-believe me, they were _not_ friends…I think something else happened in this room that night…I…also know that catches of Wildfire had been placed under the city on the day Robert took the capital…It is pure speculation, of course…but I think that it is not hard to work out why Jaime felt that your father had to die."

Daenerys listened properly now. She did not look as if she liked what she was hearing. But still…she nodded. "I know what my father was."

"Every man in the Seven Kingdoms does. Do not make his mistakes." Tyrion felt a faint glimmer of hope. "Do not kill a man loyal to you and I. Banish him instead."

Daenerys did not look quite persuaded. "Where? I will not send him East. I cannot keep him West."

"So banish him in the middle of the two."

Daenerys looked almost grimly amused. "In the Narrow Sea?"

"Your Grace…have you ever heard of an island by the name of Tarth? Called the Sapphire isle?"

"No?"

"Exactly," said Tyrion, clapping his hands together. "The perfect place for him, then. You need never see him as long as you live-and he will leave this city tonight, never to return. My brother lives, and your Kingslayer has no place in your new world."

Daenerys looked hard at Tyrion. "You think that your silver tongue can get you out of anything, don't you?"

Tyrion sucked through his teeth. "It has always worked thus far, Your Grace."

Daenerys shook her head a little…but nonetheless, she looked almost persuaded. "I will give this matter some more attention. But now…"

She turned to Jon Snow, who had been waiting.

"Tell me about what is in the North."

* * *

The hours passed so slowly it felt as if time itself had stopped to watch this event unfold.

Jaime felt so powerless. All he could do was hold Brienne-and he could do nothing else for her. He ran his good hand through her hair, feeling how damp it was with sweat, as she held his stump hand with so much force that he was sure it would break. Her face was buried in his chest as she positively shook with pain. Jaime sighed hard, kissing her hair as she panted onto his shirt, her breath almost as warm as the dragon's.

"I love you so much…" he whispered to her. "You're doing so well…."

…

The periods of quietness grew shorter, while the pain never seemed to run out of space to grow and spread. He knew that Brienne was holding back for his sake, and for the sake of her father. It was so typical Brienne, even in her position to worry about everyone else. However, it was getting more and more impossible not to cry out, and an hour after that she had stopped bothering. The _sounds_ …not a scream, nor a cry, nor a sob…they were far too human. These were…animalistic. These were howls.

All he could do was kiss her, hold her, tell her how he loved her, how her loved her even more because of what she was doing, giving birth to his baby. Despite the circumstances, he could not help but feel a glow of happiness in his heart. He found himself praying silently to the Mother over and over again, begging her to take care of Brienne, to preserve their child, that although it was before his time, he was ready, he was strong, he would be fine…Jaime would not allow fear to consume him. He just held her, almost feeling pain himself as she howled, hating how she had to suffer while he did not, wishing he could take her pain away and bear it himself. Despite his nobility, he found himself more grateful than ever that he had been born male. But it was the way of the world, and he had to do what he could. And he knew that, gods willing, the outcome would be more than worth it. Women were _incredible_.

…

It was almost dark, and still the storm raged outside, rain lashing down on the window, thunder rumbling in the distance, lightning flashing, lighting up the sky like dragonfire. Perhaps it _was_ dragonfire. Jaime did not know. He did not care about anything that was not happening inside this room. The air was so thick, the rain belting harder down into the humidity…as if it knew. As if it knew what was mere moments away from happening.

Jaime held Brienne as tightly as he dared. He could feel small bruises on his stump from her grip, but he barely noted them. He watched her face. It was so strange. Her whole face was awash with pain, her damp forehead screwed up, her cheeks scarlet, her teeth gritted…and yet her eyes were calm. They were closed, and yet not jammed. Jaime could not fathom what she was seeing behind them, but he knew that it was not this room. He had seen his sister do the same thing when she was nearing the end of childbirth. He knew that now the pain was so intense, so excruciating, that it almost seemed unreal, dreamlike. He held onto her, wishing that he could take her pain upon himself instead-before she screamed.

"Good girl. Y'nearly there," came Maggie's voice from somewhere far away, firm and calming. Jaime could not tear his eyes from Brienne to look at her.

He found himself praying again.

…

It was slow, so slow, agonisingly slow, as if time itself had all but stopped.

And then…it was all at once.

In a final burst of fire-something, something so tiny, soft, pale skin almost translucent, soaked in blood and fluids, puffy eyelids shut tightly…so small, and yet in that moment the centre of the universe…was born into Maggie's hands.

It seemed as if the world held its breath.

And then it came. For the first time ever, a cry. The world was healed by the weak, kitten-like yowl, scared and confused in its newness, and yet strong. So strong, strong enough to tear apart the earth and then realign the planets into something no one had ever seen before. And the weakness of it, the fright, the new life in this world now of dragons and magic…Any miracle seen that day could be nothing compared to the cries that now reached out, taking the world and holding on fast, the tiny lioness firmly making her first marks on this new world.


	56. Chapter 56

**Hello! Thank you so much for reading, following, favourite-ing and reviewing! Honestly means so much that you have stuck with this story all this time! I hope you have enjoyed it! Much love to you all and I hope you are all well and happy.**

 **Stay with me for the FINAL CHAPTER TOMORROW! I hope you enjoy it! I will also include some fun facts to end-scenes I never published, responses to some of the comments you lovely people made over the course of the story, and plot points that never quite happened. I feel like I put enough work into this to warrant some "behind-the-scenes special features" as it were :P I hope you enjoy them! See you tomorrow! xxxxx**

* * *

"She is like you."

"Poor girl." Jaime felt as if he would never stop smiling.

In Brienne's arms, wrapped carefully in that same scarlet cloak that had been her father's and her mother's, the child slept. Especially in the arms of her parents, everything about her was so _small_ -she seemed far too delicate for the world. Her skin was slightly translucent, even crumpled a little strangely on her frame, as if she had not quite had time to grow into it yet. Now she had dried, her little head was covered with thin wisps of light hair, as golden as her father's. Her eyes, the long light lashes closed around them, lids slightly scabbed and puffy, looked almost too large for her face. Her lips, on the other hand, were tiny and heart-shaped, her impossibly small hands curled up beneath them.

"She has your eyes…" Jaime softly stroked her cheek with one finger, soft as only new-born skin could be. He felt tears threatening behind his eyes as he looked at her, still scarcely able to believe that she was finally here. It seemed so impossible that this morning, the world was without her, and now… "Blue as the sapphire sea…" As he looked down at his daughter, who would have her father beside her for the rest of her life, with no secrets, no lies, nothing to hide-he knew he could travel to the furthest reaches of the earth, right up among the stars, and find nothing so good, so innocent, so beautiful…

Jaime looked at his wife, as she looked down at their child, and he knew he was home.

"She's…" Jaime murmured…but he could not seem to find the word.

"I know…." Brienne bent her head, gently kissing their daughter's tiny forehead. Her own voice was thick. "She-she is."

" _Thank you_ …" Jaime whispered to Brienne, leaning over to kiss her. He had never seen anyone look so exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes, with the look of a woman who had walked straight through hell and come up smiling. There was a rush of sheer love and admiration through his whole body, so much that he could not begin to express it to her. He had never loved her more than in that moment. "Thank you…for her…"

Brienne leaned into him, careful not to wake their child, who slept on. She did not need to say a word.

Suddenly-there was a noise from the other side of the room. A sort of sniff-only much too loud. It did not wake the child, but it was enough to make her parents look up. Lord Selwyn was trying unsuccessfully to hold back his tears. As he locked eyes with his daughter, his eyes darting between her and his new granddaughter…he abandoned all efforts. He opened his mouth to say something-then turned away to the wall, his head in his hands.

"Oh, dear," Maggie chuckled at him fondly, though she sounded on the verge of tears herself. She smiled at Brienne proudly. "Most natural thing in the world, jus' like I said. You did wonderfully."

"-little bird…s-so proud-" came Selwyn's muffled voice from behind his hands.

A small laugh bubbled out of Brienne, though she kept her voice very soft. Jaime could not believe that he had any more love to give to her, and yet, as she somehow found it in her to laugh after everything, he found that it wasn't true. He thanked every god there was that such things had come to pass that they were together, and they had their daughter in their arms at last. Brienne looked up at her father, a tired and yet elated smile on her face. "Come and meet her, Father," she whispered.

Selwyn did not need telling twice. Clearly, he had been anxiously awaiting this invitation ever since the moment she was born. So quietly, despite his huge frame, he made his way across the room to his daughter, kneeling down beside her. He kissed Brienne's forehead, before he too was absorbed by the child in her arms. "Gods be good…" Selwyn murmured, looking down at her in amazement. "Unbelievable, isn't it? Look at her…" So slowly, so gently, as if terrified she would break under his large fingers, he stroked his granddaughter's tiny hand, more tears springing forth.

"She's just something special, isn't she?" Maggie had not waited as Selwyn had, sitting down beside him and positively gushing over the baby, tears in her own eyes. "Mighty little girl, ain't you? Just like your mother...oh, would you look at her…"

Brienne looked up at Maggie. "She would not be here if not for you. I don't know how I can ever-"

"Stop it." Maggie patted her shoulder, then smiled down at the baby, who slept on. "No need at all...to see her here safely is all that I wanted. To see you _both_ through safely."

"Yes," Jaime agreed, gratefully. He still could not quite believe this scene that he was a part of, this moment that he had always thought would happen only to others and not to him. His daughter…there were no lies this time. No deceit, no having to pretend his child was someone else's. It was so gloriously simple. As he looked down at her, her golden Lannister hair, the sapphire blue he knew lay beneath her folded eyelashes…she was so completely perfect, so whole and so much herself. He remembered Myrcella's birth, so many years ago…she had been this perfect…Now, her half-sister sent a pang of grief through Jaime as he remembered Myrcella's final words to him… _I'm glad that you're my father_ … It was as if the entire day's events suddenly hit Jaime all at once, as he thought of Cersei, lying dead in the Red Keep. His tears fell fast as he held onto Brienne as tightly as he could, feeling that he had lost and gained the world in a single moment. But still, he reached down, gently stroking his baby daughter's cheek, kissing her tiny forehead, knowing now to treasure every moment.

"Is her sleeping now normal?" Brienne was saying to Maggie, concern in her voice.

Maggie chuckled softly. "Oh, she's as tired as you are, dear! Let her sleep. Enjoy it while it lasts, eh?"

Brienne smiled again, somewhat reassured-but Jaime knew that she was counting every breath their daughter took, every tiny movement she made in her sleep. He was put in mind of a lioness, guarding her cub with her life…which in turn reminded him of Cersei, of Catelyn Stark. He smiled more broadly than ever through his tears-he had known that Brienne would be every bit as fierce as they had been when it came to her child…

Suddenly-a sharp knock on the door.

Instantly, the child's eyes flew open, the astonishing blue colour shining through. She made a small sound, half a cry, half a yawn as she gazed unfocusedly upward, a sort of surprise on her little face, as if she had forgotten where she was. She cried out again, scared and confused.

"There now…" Brienne held her closer, comforting her in a voice Jaime had never heard before. It was as far from Brienne's frank, military bark as it was possible to be, so soft, so gentle, so…maternal. "There now, my darling…" Her voice, the only constant in this new world, caught the attention of her daughter. Though her eyes could not yet quite focus, she looked up in the general direction of her mother, her last cry catching in her throat. "It's alright…" Brienne soothed her, looking surprised even at herself, sounding choked as her daughter seemed to know her.

Selwyn had already got to his feet, knowing it could be no one hostile as they had passed the guards. He opened the door a little, looking out at the person who had knocked-before standing back, opening it wide to allow the other person entry.

"Well, well…" came a familiar voice. "Look at this."

Tyrion Lannister stood, his arms folded across his chest. He looked exhausted-and yet he smiled, looking from Jaime to the bundle of red cloak in Brienne's arms. "I believe congratulations are in order." said Tyrion, having the sense to lower his voice. "Brother…sister…"

Jaime smiled at his younger brother-he realised that all the family he had in the world were gathered in this room, everyone left whom he loved. He turned to Brienne, his voice as soft as hers. "May I?"

Carefully, as if handling something extremely breakable and priceless, Brienne placed their daughter into Jaime's arms. Jaime was staggered once again by how tiny she was, everything about her so small, and so perfect. She was so small that her weight made almost no impact on his arms inside the cloak whatsoever. He blinked back more tears as he wondered how in the world something so good and so pure had come from him.

The child's eyes widened in shock as she realised that she was no longer in the same arms. She squirmed, too weak to do anything more, looking as if she was about to start crying again. "There now, little bird…it's alright." he murmured low to her. Again-she looked up in the general direction of her father, as if he was familiar. Somehow-she knew him, knew that he was safe. Jaime felt completely blown away. If his daughter had not already captured his heart, she did now as she settled in his arms.

Slowly, Tyrion approached his brother, and looked down at the baby in his arms. His smile broadened as he put a hand on Jaime's shoulder. "Lovely. Simply lovely."

"She is…" Jaime could hardly tear is eyes from her, even to look at Tyrion.

"A girl?" Tyrion squeezed Jaime's shoulder. "Wonderful. You must be so proud. It really is the year of the women, isn't it? Daenerys on the throne, Sansa in the North, Ellaria Sand and her daughters, Yara Greyjoy, Lady Olenna-and that formidable lady of Bear Island…and now this little lioness. Which reminds me…" He dug a hand into the pocket of his robes. "I found this, fallen out of a fireplace in the Red Keep. Lucky it caught my eye-I almost walked straight past it." Tyrion pulled out a small, wooden object. Jaime realised with a start what it was. Slightly scorched, partly blackened with soot and ash, and yet completely recognisable, was the wooden lion cub, it's bright eyes still glinting in the candlelight.

"Gods…" Jaime shook his head in amazement. "I thought Cersei had burned it…"

"Well, someone tried. But lion cubs are tough, aren't they?" Tyrion smiled down at his new niece. "Although there was a little injury," Tyrion flipped the wooden cub around in his hands, to show that now, one of its paws was missing, having been burned away.

Jaime gave a quiet laugh, careful not to alarm his daughter. He looked down at his stump hand. "How apt."

"Quite," Tyrion raised an eyebrow, before turning back to his niece. "She is quite extraordinary, isn't she? Funny how the smallest person can cast the largest shadow. Though I think she will have outgrown me by the time I see her again…"

Jaime looked up at his brother. "What do you mean?"

Tyrion looked a little awkward. He cleared his throat. "Well. This isn't really a social call…" He swallowed, before his voice took on a formal tone. "By the orders of Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, et cetera, et cetera-you, Jaime of House Lannister are henceforth banished from the capital and indeed from Westeros. You are to leave these shores and never return as long as you live. On pain of death."

Jaime blinked in shock…but there was quiet understanding in his eyes. He had been expecting this. "Of course. She has not forgotten who killed her father."

"She has not," Tyrion shook his head. "She wanted your head, but I persuaded her otherwise. The Queen is prepared to let you live-provided that you leave the country for good."

Jaime looked down at his daughter, who was staring unfocusedly up at the ceiling. "Where do I take her where she will be safe? Must we go East? To Pentos?"

"If you wish," said Tyrion-but suddenly, he looked rather pleased with himself. "Or you could go to Tarth. You would therefore leave the shores of Westeros, after all. I suggested it to the queen, who agreed that Tarth is the best place for you. Therefore, your daughter need not be denied her birth rights, while you are far away from the queen and her new world."

Jaime could hardly believe what he was hearing. "We can go to Tarth?"

"Yes, you may go to Tarth," Tyrion smiled. "This little lioness is heir to Evenfall Hall after all. And Casterly Rock too, I suppose. As I said-we have entered the age of women." Carefully, he reached out and held his niece's tiny fist for a moment. "I am sure she will do great things when she is grown. I hope I will live to see them." He looked up at Jaime. "I am not sure when I will see her again-or you, brother. There is so much to do. And Winter is coming."

"Winter is long here," murmured Jaime, looking back at his brother. "Thank you. For everything."

Tyrion put a hand on Jaime's shoulder again. "Don't mention it. Just get yourselves out of the capital." He turned from Jaime to speak to Selwyn, who was watching him carefully. "Goodbye, Lord Selwyn. I hope we will meet again someday."

"Yes," said Selwyn, shaking his hand firmly, receiving him far more warmly than he ever had at Winterfell. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion. You will always have a place at my table. Good luck."

"And the same to you." Tyrion nodded, then turned from him to Brienne, who had been closely listening to everything despite her obvious exhaustion. He smiled broadly at her. "Goodbye, sister. And congratulations once again. My niece is simply wonderful." He kissed Brienne's cheek. "I hope we meet again. Until then…I hope you can put up with Jaime. As I so eloquently put it at your wedding, he can be a terrible arse." He winked at her, his eyes shining. "I wish you good luck."

"And the same to you, brother." Brienne smiled back at him. They shared a long look-before Tyrion turned to Maggie, who was watching him in fascination.

"I…I don't actually know who you are," Tyrion said, awkwardly polite. "But from the way Lord Selwyn is looking at you, I am to believe that you are someone rather special, and so…" He bowed low to her. "Seven blessings on you, madam."

Maggie looked embarrassed, glancing at Selwyn, who was now staring determinedly at the ceiling. But she smiled back at Tyrion. "Seven blessings, m'lord!"

Finally, Tyrion turned back to Jaime, looking down at the child in his arms. Tyrion smiled, once again taking her tiny hand. "Goodbye, little one. I wish you good health and every happiness." Gently, he kissed her forehead, as she looked uncertainly up at the ceiling. He gave a small laugh. "I'm sorry that mine is one of the first faces you have seen. Not many people look as frightening as me, I promise. All the same, I hope will all my heart that I will see you again."

"She will know the bravery of her uncle," said Jaime, looking hard at Tyrion, as if he could not look enough. Both brothers knew that Tyrion was about to enter one of the most dangerous phases of his life, as Hand of the Queen in an uncertain new world, with Winter upon them. But still-they managed to smile. "Goodbye, Tyrion."

"Goodbye, Jaime."

They shared a long, final look, each trying to say without words everything they had not. Then, with a final wave of his hand and flick of his cloak-Tyrion was gone. Jaime held the wooden lion cub tightly in his hand, the real lion cub carefully in his arms, his heart too full to say another word.

* * *

The storm had cleared by the next morning. After the chaos of the previous day, the waters were uncommonly calm, the sky clouded, and yet clear. The skyline of the capital was clear, every building defined in the weak sunlight. Still, on the rooves of the Red Keep, three dragons, one black, one yellow and one green, climbed, shrieking at the new day. It was primal, deafening…and yet beautiful.

"Gods! Good gods! _Dragons_!" Maggie was leaning so far over the side of the ship that it could not be safe, the gentle wind blowing through her wild hair. staring in wild disbelief at the beasts. " _Real dragons_! Gods be good!" From close by, Selwyn watched her, laughing fondly, gazing up at them himself in wonder.

Jaime stood back on the deck of the ship, watching as he left Kings Landing behind him forever. He did not feel any grief leaving the capital…though it was certainly strange. But he was too overwhelmingly and deliriously happy to think about the past now. He knew that every moment was far too precious to waste. Smiling, he turned his back on Kings Landing, and walked back inside the ship.

"Dear Maggie has seen her dragons. All worth it now, hey?" He strode into the cabin, sitting down heavily beside his wife and wrapping an arm around her. Brienne looked far better now than she had done the previous day, her eyes wide awake and shining. Oathkeeper leaned against her thigh, back in its proper place in her scabbard. And in her arms, their daughter, so tiny and yet so much, still staring up in fascination at nothing in particular. Even after everything that had happened, now, Jaime knew himself to be the luckiest man who ever lived. He stroked her little golden head, still marvelling at her very existence.

"Everything is worth it now…" Brienne leaned her head on Jaime's shoulder.

"Everything..." Jaime murmured. He kissed her, not needing to tell her how he loved her, how he loved their daughter, for he knew that she knew. There was nothing more to say as he kissed her, knowing that the next land they would step on would be Tarth, that their daughter would grow up on the Sapphire isle, that she would be safe, that they could all stay together, which was all they had worked for all this time. He did not know quite what the future he sailed towards held…all he knew was that it was Brienne, and it was their daughter. Nothing more.


	57. Chapter 57

"M'lady! M'lady!"

Addam was at a complete loss. The young squire ran his hands through his hair, staring up at the wall of the tower. "You have to come down! Come down right now! M'lady? _Please_!"

"M'lady!" Robbert shouted, dropping the bowstring he had been tightening and running to his younger brother's side. He gasped. "M'lady! Gods be good!" He turned to Addam, furious. "How on earth did she get up there? Weren't you _watching_ her, you bloomin' idiot?"

"'Course I was! I only turned me back for a second!" grumbled Addam, turning his head back towards the tower. "M'lady! Come down right now-please! You've nae idea how much trouble you'll get us in!"

Six feet above their heads, a little pair of red boots scrambled upwards, climbing the old stone wall with practised ease. Her light blue dress did not seem to restrict her, as she wore boys' leggings underneath. Her long, golden plait swung down her back as she climbed, deaf to the protests of the lads below. Her lips were a line of determination as she pulled herself upwards, her huge sapphire eyes focused on the very top of Evenfall Hall. She grimaced-she would settle for nothing less...

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" Robbert rolled his eyes, before taking a run-up to the wall. He gripped onto the stones with both hands, swinging his legs up to find a ledge-but he slipped, and overbalanced, tumbling backwards onto the grass below. " _M'lady_!" he called up, embarrassed and furious. "Come back down right now! If your grandfather sees y-"

" _JOHANNA_!"

A voice thundered from behind, too loud for even the little lady to ignore. Lord Selwyn dropped the sparring swords he had been carrying and begun to run at full pelt towards the tower wall. He skidded to a halt at the foot of the tower, breathing hard and rubbing his aching back-but quickly, his head snapped up. " _Johanna_! Stop right there! Don't you dare move an inch!" Taking a deep breath, he grabbed onto the cold, rough stones and pulled himself up, groaning as he climbed. "Johanna!" he shouted up to his granddaughter as he neared her. "You are in serious trouble, young lady!" With his great height, and strength in his old age, it did not take him long to reach her. Robbert and Addam stared uselessly on as Selwyn grabbed the little lady around the waist, placing her firmly over his shoulder, before climbing back down, carefully, but quickly.

The moment he set both of her feet back on solid ground, Selwyn crouched in front of his granddaughter, both hands firmly on her shoulders. She was completely unharmed, but for some red scrapes on her hands from the stone. "Johanna Lannister! What have I told you about climbing! You _never_ climb these walls, do you understand?"

Johanna's little face screwed up as she frowned at her grandfather, her mouth a defiant pout.

"They could crumble, or you could slip, and then you would fall and break your leg-or worse!" Selwyn lectured her warningly. "I want you to give me your word that you will never climb these walls again! _Johanna_! Are you listening to me?"

Johanna looked up, meeting his eyes. She scowled-but she nodded, dragging her feet through the grass.

"…could do yourself a serious injury!" Selwyn kept on at her. He loosened his grip on her, getting to his feet. "And _you_!" Suddenly, he turned on the two squires, who looked terrified. "What on earth were you two doing? I leave you with my granddaughter for five minutes, and she's halfway up the castle!"

Instantly, the two lads burst into a series of excuses, each drowning out the other.

"Oh, spare me." Selwyn waved a hand, glaring at them. "Your mother will hear about this!"

"Oh _no_ …" Robbert muttered, while Addam turned quite pale.

" _And_ if anything had happened to my granddaughter, I would certainly have left it to you to explain to _her_ mother why she has a broken leg. I would not envy any man that task…" Selwyn said darkly-before turning back to his granddaughter, taking her firmly by the hand and leading her away. "Inside, now, my girl! We are going to find your parents."

Selwyn marched his granddaughter straight into Evenfall Hall, past every red and blue tapestry bearing the Tarth sigil, every large window overlooking the sparking sapphire sea below, until they turned into the drawing room. There, sat in a comfortable wooden chair, his feet resting on a large desk, whereon lay a half-finished letter, laughing with Ser Gethyn and Ser Owaiyn, was Jaime Lannister. The room was brightly lit by the sun, streaming in from numerous windows, its warmth having gently faded the tapestries on the walls over the years.

The moment their lord entered, both knights stood quickly to attention. Instantly, Jaime swung his feet off the desk, looking like a schoolboy caught slacking, the half-finished letter flying off of the table. "Selwyn?" He caught sight of his daughter, dragging her feet behind the old lord, a guilty expression on her face. "What's happened?"

"I just found Johanna here half-way up the castle walls! Left her alone with Maggie's boys for five minutes and she was off." Selwyn said, gently thrusting her forward. "Have you anything to say to your father?"

"What do you mean?" Jaime stepped forward from behind the desk, hurrying to his daughter and kneeling down in front of her. "Little bird?"

"She was climbing up the-"

"Up the castle walls?" Jaime repeated, looking excited. "Wow, how high did you get? Up to the first floor?-er-I mean…" Jaime caught sight of his father-by-law's icy glare. Quickly, he rearranged his face into something serious. "I mean, you must stop doing that. _Immediately_. Far too dangerous. Promise me you will _never_ do it again?"

Johanna drained her face of every hint of a scowl, instead presenting the winning smile she reserved especially for getting around her father, widening her eyes and baring her little white teeth. "Yes, Father." Her voice was sugar, clear as a bell.

Jaime could not help but smile back. He gently stroked her cheek, thinking about how much she resembled his mother, whom she was named for. "You know you can't really fly, little bird? If you're going to climb, _do_ stick to trees, won't you? And only do it when I'm around, so I can watch you like a hawk."

Johanna giggled as Jaime scooped her up in his arms, swinging her high into the air before settling her on his hip and carrying her back to the desk, where he resumed his seat, sitting her down on his lap. "Now, where was I?"

"You were writing to your brother. Corresponding with the _crown_ , remember…" Selwyn sighed irritably, feeling like Jaime had not taken the situation as seriously as he needed to have. But he had the solution. Quickly, he turned on his heel and marched back out of the room, both knights dutifully following him.

Jaime bent down, careful to keep his daughter steady, and retrieved the fallen letter. He read it over, boring business regarding the Stormlands-and yet so delightfully mundane, after so many years of chaos… "Your Uncle Tyrion asked what you would like for your name-day. What should I tell him?"

Johanna shrugged, still giggling, leaning on Jaime's shoulder and fiddling with his hair, beginning to try to braid it with her little fingers. "How about a bucket of frogspawn?" Jaime teased, gently tickling her so she squealed. "Or sheep dung? Would you like that?"

Johanna giggled louder, so much so that it echoed off the walls, like birds in chorus. Jaime laughed with her, unable to do anything else, the cheeky grin on her face like starlight to him. He gently stroked her warm, soft hair, golden hay like his own-though he was noticing more flecks of grey these days. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

Johanna held out her hands, covered in small red scrapes.

"Oh dear," Jaime tutted, taking her little hands in his and kissing them. "We'll add these to the collection, will we? They'll go nicely with the bruises on your knees from training the other day…In all seriousness, though," He jogged her into a more comfortable position on his knee. "No more climbing the castle. It is so easy to fall off stone walls…Besides, if your mother had caught you, _well_ -"

"Johanna! _Johanna_!"

Jaime sucked air through his teeth as the doors were flung open once again. "Oh dear…" Instantly, he got to his feet, holding his daughter out in front of him like a shield. "She's fine! Look, completely unscathed child! All four limbs intact!"

"Climbing the _walls_?" Brienne hurried behind the desk, panting slightly, clearly having just dropped and sprinted from whatever she was doing. She took Johanna from Jaime, setting her down firmly on the floor and checking her all over for injury, as if she did not quite trust Jaime's definition of "unscathed." "Oh, _look_ at your hands…"

" _Mother_ …" Johanna moaned, sounding irritated. She folded her arms impatiently.

"For the sake of the gods, she's _fine_!" Jaime put his hands on his daughter's shoulders. "Children get scrapes! I swear, you and your father would wrap her in sheep wool every hour of the day if you could."

"Believe me, I would…" Brienne muttered darkly. She knelt down to the child's level, so that their almost identical eyes met. "You must promise me you will never do this again. It is so dangerous. Johanna?"

Johanna looked down at the floor, shuffling her feet. She knew no amount of winning smiles could sway her mother's attention from the matter in hand. "I'm sorry, Mother." she said, meaning it this time. "I promise."

"You know what that means, little bird." Brienne's voice was becoming calmer. She took her daughter's hands in hers, steadily keeping eye contact. "You must always be loyal to your word. If you swear to something, then you do it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother." Johanna nodded seriously. Jaime smiled down at her-she looked so much like her mother when she made this solemn little face, her sapphire eyes sure, her lips pursed. It still took him by surprise sometimes how much he loved her, how he would go to the ends of the earth just to see her smile.

"Alright then," Brienne finally relaxed. She gently stroked Johanna's cheek, brushing loose strands of golden hair behind her ear, giving a weak smile. "You know I don't mean to spoil your fun-neither does your grandfather. I just have to keep you safe, darling, because-"

"-you love me so very, very much." Johanna parroted, knowing what came next. She smiled back hopefully.

"Yes, that's right," Brienne looked a little surprised, but pleased. She wrapped Johanna in her arms, holding her close and kissing her forehead. "I love you so much."

"As do I," Jaime said, catching his wife's eye over the head of their daughter. He smiled at her for a moment, before lifting Johanna up off the floor and sitting her down on the desk. She swung her legs, looking cheerful again, smiling up at her parents with little white teeth.

"I only wanted to get to the moon."

Jaime spluttered, looking at her in amazement. " _Only_ the moon?"

"Grandmother says that's where the dragons came from." Johanna explained, her voice like bells. "The moon broke open…and all the dragons came out!" She spread her arms, demonstrating, giggling again.

Jaime laughed. "I don't know where Maggie gets her stories…well, I don't think you'll make it by scaling the building. All the more reason to stop, hey?"

"And they got their fire from the sun!" Johanna continued excitedly, pointing up to the Tarth sigil, which on the wall beside them. She paused, thinking hard. "I don't think I should go there until I have a _real_ sword though…" She turned back to Jaime, trying her well-practised smile again. "Father, _please_ can I-?"

"For the thousandth time, no!" Jaime shook his head fondly. "We agreed-not until you're nine."

" _Nine_?" Brienne shot Jaime a warning look.

"Ten, then," Jaime shrugged. "You'll have to stick to your sparring sword for now, little bird. I'm not sure you could take on a dragon with it, but you don't see many of those on Tarth. Wait-what's _that_?" He suddenly gasped, pointing frantically at out of the window. Instantly, Johanna snapped her head around, her plait flying-but there was nothing but the sapphire sea. Jaime chucked as she turned back to him, annoyed.

" _Father_!" she stropped, folding her arms. "Stop it!"

"I'll stop when you stop falling for it," Jaime gently squeezed her shoulder. "Go on now, princess, find your grandfather and apologise to him."

Johanna smiled again, slipping off the desk and onto the floor. She ran away at full pelt, blue dress flying, red boots skipping on the floor like stitches. "Come on, Ser Pounce!" she shouted at the old, long-suffering cat who had been sleeping in the corner, scooping him up in her arms and carrying him with her, letting the door bang behind her.

Brienne sighed, turning to Jaime. "A _sword_? Are you crazy?"

"Oh, come on, love." Jaime took her hands, a glint in his eye. "Just a small one-nothing she could do any real damage with. _I_ had my first sword at nine. She's good. _Really_ good. Better than I ever was at her age. There's only so much you can learn with a sparring sword- _you've_ seen her. She's the very copy of you when she trains."

"She also thinks that dragons came from the _moon_ …I think you forget how old she is sometimes." Brienne rolled her eyes long-sufferingly. She looked worriedly at the door, after their daughter. "I wish she wouldn't run like that inside. It's one thing to fall over onto grass, but _stone_ -if she tripped-"

"-then she'd have to get back up again, wouldn't she?" Jaime teased her. "She's tough, you know. She always has been. Just like her mother…"

"Do you think, after all this time, you can still charm your way around me?"

"Yes." Jaime answered seriously-but he grinned. "Alright. I shall have every corridor lined with sheep wool." He looked at Brienne, his smile becoming slightly bittersweet. "Where did the time go, hey? It seems like only yesterday I came to Winterfell for you…"

"It seems like only yesterday you would check on our daughter five times a night just to make sure she was still breathing," Brienne reminded him, raising an eyebrow. "I think you could do with some more of that attitude sometimes, like when you're teaching her to shoot off the back of a pony she only learned to ride last year…"

Jaime laughed. "You _know_ I was holding the reins the whole time! Nothing could have happened." He squeezed her hand, meeting her eyes. "You know I care just as much about the protection of the little princess as you do…look at everything we did to keep her safe…In another life, she might have been queen…"

"Oh, _don't_." Brienne shuddered, shaking her head. She looked back at the door, beyond which Johanna's footsteps had disappeared. "I remember every time she tries to do something dangerous. But I'm not sure I ever want her to know…"

"She'll find out," said Jaime, wrapping his arms around his wife. "When she conquers the world herself. God help the realm when she grows up-it won't know what's hit it…but not today. Let her think that dragons come from the moon…" He kissed Brienne, the familiarity of it never making him forget who she was, and how much she meant to him. "There's something magical about that, isn't there?"

Brienne could not help but smile. She leaned into Jaime's shoulder, sighing. "We're doing alright, aren't we?"

"Of course we are. She's lasted this long, hasn't she? We're doing fine…" He kissed her again, warmed by the Tarth sun streaming through the window, sparking off the sapphire sea. "The sun is out, Summer is coming, and we are all together. We're doing _fine_ …"

* * *

 **TEN FUN FACTS ABOUT "IT'LL ALWAYS BE YOURS"!**

 **1) The title, if it was lifted straight from the show as I intended, should be "It WILL Always Be Yours"-but I misheard the brilliant Nikolaj Coster-Waldau and added in the omission. Sorry!**

 **2) The idea for the story came to me in a dream, as cheesy as that is. I woke up and wrote the first two chapters using notepad on my phone in bed-that is why there are some semantic mistakes in the early chapters :P**

 **3) Originally, it was going to be a complete bloodbath. I was going to kill off pretty much everyone, from Selwyn to Maggie, but there were so many beseeching reviews that I couldn't bear to do it to you guys :P so we had the super-mega-happy ending. For example: Jaime was originally dead when he died-I'm still not happy with the way I wrote his speedy resurrection! But I hope it was still enjoyable and a tonic from the show itself.**

 **4) A word about Jon Snow. He is definitely the worst-written character! I was nervous about writing him as I could not seem to capture any semblance to his voice in my words, so I kind of used him as I pleased, which was bad of me! So, to correct the original statement-eveyone BUT Jon Snow stayed in character, I hope! Sorry!**

 **5) I was persuaded by one of you lovely people to change the rating from an "M" to a "T", which was a great idea and thank you so much! But it did mean I cut out quite a few scenes I had originally planned so that I could keep within the new rating! For example, the death of Denys was originally going to be far more graphic and bloody, but I settled on hanging him instead. He was just as dead :P There was also going be a lot more Jaime/Brienne sexytime...nothing graphic, but hinting at a little more than I did! It's probably a good thing, to be honest-it would have just made my huge crush on Gwendoline Christie even worse :P**

 **6) Speaking of Denys, he was based on one of my friends. Yes, my friend is funny and a very good actor. No, he never tried to kill anyone. That I know of. Maggie is also based, far more favorably, on a friend. A very wonderful friend who is less Northern but just as adventurous :)**

 **7) The red cloak which kept getting passed around between Jaime and Brienne-and little Johanna- is definitely a metaphor. For something. Probably love, or something cheesy like that. There are lots of little literary techniques my inner English geek slipped in-I wonder if any of them came through :P**

 **8) The baby did not have a definite name until yesterday. Poor girl! She went through so many names in my head. She was going to be Renaeya-I felt like Brienne would want to memorialize Renly in any way she could-but y'all weren't having that! Also I think Jaime might have won that argument. Poor Renly...well, at least he is reunited with Loras now. RIP. I picked my preferred spelling of Johanna, although she is named for a Joanna :P Little lioness gets the extra H because we love her that much**

 **9) Varys was originally going to have a much larger role than he did-I _love_ Varys and he definitely deserved it-but I ended up pretty much cutting him completely so that the ending could be happy. There WAS a reason he rescued Brienne at Winterfell...but now we'll never know :P **

**10) Yes, Selwyn had Saebastyn quietly killed. Yes, he feels bad about it. No, he's not sorry.**

 **And there we go! I honestly cannot possibly thank you all enough for reading and hopefully enjoying this! I loved writing it, and I loved taking this journey with all of you guys! Much love to you all, and I hope you all stay safe and happy. I'll probably write more in future-perhaps some of us will meet again! I'll miss you all so much, genuinely, you're all awesome. Nonetheless, bye for now! Valar Morghulis, seven blessings, what is dead may never die-anything you like :) now, we white-knuckle it until Season Seven...xxxxxx**


	58. Chapter 58

**Hi! Just to let all of you wonderful people know-I'm writing a sequel to this story. It is called "Flamemaker". It would be amazing to see some old friends there! What could possibly go wrong? Check it out-there will be regular updates as usual. Hope you are all well, much love! xxx**


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